“Aisle five? Impressive—we hadn’t hit that aisle yet,” he said, not an ounce of mockery in his tone. Just a deep sense of understanding that shook her to the core. “But I think the assignment had to do with something a little more challenging than potato chips and salsa.”
“I whizzed through the frozen section, didn’t even run into a single display door. That takes skill.”
“Then the concert should be a breeze.”
She thought about the suffocating amount of perfume and sardined bodies she’d have to push through. The deafening sounds of thousands of people conversing at once. “Or a disaster.”
“Nope, when it comes to music, you are in your zone,” he said so confidently she began to believe him. “The setting might be a little bigger than your sunroom, but the music will distract you from the surroundings and create an environment where you’ll feel comfortable enough to try new things.”
“You really thought this through,” she said, stunned. Not at the thoughtfulness behind the surprise—Hunter was one of the most thoughtful people she knew—but at the time he’d spent, planning an evening that would push her as much as it would soothe her nerves.
“I called a buddy of mine who manages the hall.”
“Schermerhorn Symphony Center is more than a hall, and on opening night it will be more like Disneyland for music aficionados,”she said. “Muttley would get trampled.” And she would have a panic attack. In fact, she was pretty sure she felt one coming on.
He linked his hand with hers, then rested them against his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart. “We’ll enter through the VIP entrance. And the second we get to the box seats, it will feel like a cozy night at home with you, me, Muttley, and the Philharmonic.”
The Philharmonic.
One of her bucket-list items she’d given up on ever crossing off. But Hunter was giving her the chance to experience it. All she had to do was say yes.
“What if someone recognizes you or we get separated?” she asked, scooting closer.
Hunter lifted her hand to his face. A soft and sculpted beard replaced his usual scruff. It was rugged and sophisticated—and damn sexy. “I don’t think anyone would recognize me like this.”
“I would,” she said, running her fingers over his jaw, his lashes fluttering shut beneath her touch. She’d never been into beards, but she was into Hunter—and he made it hot.
“Because you’re you,” he said quietly. “And I want your first big fun activity to reflect that.”
“I may need you to hold my hand,” she admitted—sliding her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck and going up on her toes until their lips were lined up. All it would take was one of them to breathe too hard and they’d be kissing.
A sensory activity she could get behind.
“Only if you hold mine back,” he murmured.
“A little hard to do, since they’re holding my bottom.”
He gave a squeeze and she smiled. “Are you trying to kiss me, Trouble? Because I already told you, I’m a front-porch kind of guy.”
“Why don’t we discuss that while you frost my cupcakes?” she said, sticking her finger in the frosting and trailing it across her lips. “I’ll supply the whipped cream.”
