He nods and gives me his “Savannah” smile. I’ve noticed over the past few weeks that he has a series of smiles. Not all Justin Ashe smiles are created equal. They’re all delicious, of course, but the one he gives me, and only me? That’s my favorite.
“Actually, I have something for Soph too.”
It’s the last time I’ll see him before Christmas, and I don’t have anything for him. I feel terrible.
“I didn’t get you anything, Justin.” There’s a lump in my throat, and I’m praying I don’t cry again in front of this beautiful man.
He hands me two gift bags, and my eyes fill.
“Justin…”
“It’s nothing much. Open it. The blue bag is yours.”
My hands are shaking, but curiosity burns bright in my body. What’s in the bag? Hopefully it’s something small, like a succulent, or one of the journals he saw me lusting over when we unboxed the delivery last week.
I pull the book out, peeling off the tissue paper and tucking it back into the bag, and my breath catches in my chest. Oh, holy moly. It’s not a journal.
He’s only gone and got me an advanced copy of J.R. Blake’s upcoming release. I’m holding a copy of my favorite author’s next book before it’s even available to preorder.
I don’t have words. I can’t stop the tears. All I can do is stare.
“I have an in with the author.”
I’ll fucking say.
“It’s signed.”
Is he nervous? Why the hell is he nervous? He rocks back on his feet, and I don’t dare meet his stare in case I burst into hysterics.
The hand holding my new book shakes so hard I’m convinced I’m going to drop it and ding the corners. “Justin…I can’t accept this… It’s too much.”
I peel back the cover. My name is written in hot pink Sharpie, and there’s a quote about dreams I can’t fully see through my tears. My body heaves with sobs as my emotion bursts out from my eyes.
He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me against his chest, curling his arms around me and shushing me softly in my ear. This might be the most thoughtful and perfect gift I’ve ever been given, and I don’t know what to do with that. Other than cry some more of course.
“Would it help if I told you I ordered them for book club too?”
I sniff. There’s probably snot on his shirt. I know I should care, but he doesn’t seem to, and I’m too busy trying to process, while simultaneously cursing my tears. I can’t get a good whiff of his delicious man smell ’cause of my stupid snotty nose.
“Are they all personalized?”
“No, pretty girl. Just yours.”
Just mine. Pretty girl. What the hell is happening right now?
“I was wondering.”
My head hits the underside of his chin as I jerk upright. Pain radiates through my skull and I hiss out a cuss.
“Shit, are you okay?” He examines my head, his concern wrapping itself around me like a warm blanket on a cold night. I hit him—shouldn’t I be the one asking if he’s okay? And why the fuck do we keep smacking our heads together? Is this some kind of message from the universe?
“I’m good.” I rub my crown. “Startled more than hurt. What were you going to say?”
“Your flight leaves tomorrow morning, right? To go home to Minnesota?”
I nod slowly, not sure where he’s going with this.
“I’m booked to go on that one too.”
