“Seven,” I confirm.
He smiles at me, and my heart does something that I can only describe as a backflip, and I wonder if I need to see a cardiologist. This smile is different. It’s not polite. It’s not for show. It’s not forced.
It’s Evan, andthatEvan…
That’s the Evan I want to know.
The one who fixes broken things without a word.
The one who builds his sister ridiculous board games with pieces people discarded.
The one who wants toget usedto my sincere moments like they aren’t a problem or an over exaggeration.
The one who wanted to keep me safe without keeping me silent.
The one who has a whole lot more to his heart than he lets other people see.
Chapter 29
Rachel
I’mwearingmyredsatin dress with thin straps that sometimes prefer to fall off my shoulders like they’ve had a long day and simply can’t anymore. But it’s one of my favorites. I found it a few years ago in a thrift store, and it reminded me of Julia Roberts inPretty Woman—and while the dress is different, and Julia is obviously a thousand times more glamorous than me, it still makes me feel like a pretty woman. You know, minus the whole streetwalker situation.
And well, my hair is my hair. Wild, crazy, framing my face in its natural disaster. I tried to tie it up, but my hands were shaking from nerves, and I finally gave up.
I’m waiting in the lobby for Evan, mentally rehearsing how to look effortlessly stunning while also not tripping over my own tongue from my excitement because I’m about togo on a date with Evan Michaels, when the elevator dings.
And then, there he is.
Evan strides out in a dark-green dress shirt, the top two buttons undone like he’s contractually obligated to make hearts flutter, and slacks that do things no ordinary slacks should be allowed to do.
His eyes find me, and he gives me a look that makes my knees wobble while sitting. It’s slow and intentional as he looks me over,making me suddenly aware of every inch of exposed shoulder and exactly where my straps are in their ongoing battle with gravity.
“Wow,” he says.
“Wow as in, ‘wow, you look great’, or ‘wow, that dress is one thread away from becoming a wardrobe malfunction’?” I ask.
He grins. “Both. I did miss the disrobing a few weeks ago, after all. Someone got me with pepper spray thinking I was a stalker, and well…I might understand the stalker a little better now.”
I stand and playfully punch him.
“What?” He laughs. “You’re the one who said you felt bad for him.”
“Let’s go get something to eat,” I say. “And don’t worry, I have the company credit card.”
He extends an arm so I can loop mine through his, and it feels easy. Like we’ve done this a million times before, and yet, my heart hammers against my chest, making me realize this is the first time.
“So, how did your book signing go?” I ask.
“Uneventful,” he replies. “Lily is flying in though. She loves Nashville. One of her favorite places. She loves the music, the people, and the food.”
“Speaking of food, was I supposed to find a place to eat? I tried to look something up but there were so many choices, and I hate making decisions. Mal says I’m like a squirrel when we’re grocery shopping—too many nuts and not enough brain cells to figure out what’s the best. So I end up grabbing everything and spend my entire month's grocery budget in one trip. And I didn't think I should make a reservation everywhere…" I pause, waiting for him to insert his steadiness into my rambling.
“I have a plan,” he says as he opens the hotel door, and we walk outside into the sticky summer air of Tennessee.
I sigh with relief. A man with a plan when it comes to food is anangel.
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something…” I trail off. I’m not sure it’s a good idea, but I need to know because this next question—it’s braided into my very being, and if he hates this part of me…
