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“How manly,” I said, trying to inject a little humor into the conversation to lighten the mood.
She laughed and sniffed back more snot.
It seems to be working.
“Yeah…that was Rory.”
“Are you up for your nanny interview now?”
“Um, I’m kinda a hot mess right now. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“I doubt that. You’re a very beautiful woman,” I said without thinking.
Fuck. Did I just say that out loud?
The bathroom door flew open, and I fell onto the floor. Kierra stared down at me with glassy red eyes. A tear still lingered on one of her lashes, threatening to fall.
“A-are you hitting on me?”
Chapter Six
Kierra
“A-are you hitting on me?” I asked, staring down at Jonathan.
He swallowed roughly and adjusted his glasses before standing. I smiled a little when I noticed his cheeks were as red as radishes. I watched curiously as he beat the imaginary dust off his clothes—buying himself time to respond.
Jonathan shoved his hands into the pockets of his white linen shorts and rocked back and forth in his tan boat shoes, looking as if he were rushing a fraternity. I wasn’t knocking his style—it suited him and paired nicely with his clean-cut aesthetic.
“Hitting on you?” he asked inquisitively through squinted eyes. “I-I wouldn’t. That would be in poor taste. You are objectively beautiful, and I don’t think a few tears and a snotty nose would change that.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then I appreciate the compliment.”
“Great. Because that’s what it was…a compliment,” he said, continuing to blush.
Cute.
“Since we’re paying compliments, how did you get your hands on that Rembrandt?”
His eyes widened in surprise. “You’re into art?”
“I planned on majoring in art, but that fell through,” I expressed as we gravitated toward the expensive canvas mounted in the foyer.
“Why? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”
“Rory,” I answered simply.
“Oh,” he replied almost sorrowfully.
I nudged him with my elbow. “Don’t make that face. My parents made the same face when I told them I wasn’t attending college. Instead, I was running off with a guy who only had a leather jacket and a motorcycle to his name.”
He chuckled uneasily and scratched the back of his head. “Did you come from money?”
My tongue poked the inside of my cheek as I considered his question. “No, we didn’t come from money, but we weren’t bad off. My father dropped out of high school to work, and my mother barely graduated because of her Dyslexia. I’m an only child, and they wanted to see me earn a degree doing what I loved. You?”
“I come from a long line of lawyers,” he said, smiling boyishly.
“That’s awesome.”
