I twist the knob and step out.
He's sitting on the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, typing something into his phone. He looks relaxed.
At the sound of my heels on the floor, he stops immediately. His fingers freeze mid-message, and he looks up.
He slides the phone into his pocket without even glancing at it again. He stands slowly, his full attention shifting to me.
Interesting. Most men I know do that "let me finish" nod before speaking with me.
His gaze is like a physical touch, moving from my face to my dress, down my legs, and back up again.
"Wow," he says. "You're stunning."
"Thanks," I reply, struggling to keep the warmth from his reaction down. "You look nice as well. And since you didn't tell me where we're going, I figured I'd match you."
He smiles and walks closer to me. "You think I look nice?"
"Well, I..." I stop and clear my throat. "Yes, but don't let it get to your head or anything."
He looks at me for a moment. "It's a surprise," he says, "where we're going. And you're dressed perfectly for it. Actually," he pauses and looks me up and down again. "Maybe too perfect."
I laugh and cover my face. "Okay. I've already agreed to the drink. You don't need to smooth-talk me."
"Are you always uncomfortable with compliments?" he says, looking down at me. "The way your neck gets slightly red when I say them. I like it."
"What? No. I don't know what you're talking about. Maybe it's hot in here. Are we ready?"
He pauses for a moment, and I get a little nervous he'll poke at one of my flaws.
"Okay,orea mou. Let's go."
I glance up at him, raising my eyebrow. Of course he would saymy beautifulafter I brush off his question.
He's just trying to get under my skin, so I don't respond. I just walk toward the door.
He steps in front of me, opening it and waiting for me to walk out first.
The night air hits me, and I take in a deep breath as I lock the door.
The rain has stopped, but everything glistens. The gravel path sparkles under the moonlight, and for a moment, it almost doesn't feel real. Like I've stepped into some fairy tale that's about to go horribly wrong or impossibly right.
Niko opens the passenger door of his sleek black car. Not just opens, but waits. Doesn't gesture to hurry. Just allows me to be.
He walks around and gets behind the wheel. We pull away from the cottage and reality settles in.
This is happening.
"So," I say, looking around. "You're really not going to tell me where we're going?"
He glances over, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. "Where would the fun in that be?"
I narrow my eyes. "I agreed to a drink, not an abduction."
He smiles. "Would I really go to the trouble of flying across the world just to kidnap you?"
"You flew across the world for a drink. So yes. It's not off the table."
He laughs. "Fair enough. I promise I'll return you to your little cottage when we're done."
