Page 20 of Not Mine To Love

We said goodbyes to Ana then made our way to the small parking lot outside of her apartment complex.

“Mind if I drive?”

I shook my head and followed him to his car and tried not to think of how good he smelled as he held the door open for me.

I couldn’t help myself as I sniffed the air.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine, fine.” I awkwardly slid down in the seat, as if I could avoid embarrassment by making myself smaller.

“So how’s it going so far?”

“Great.”

“Yeah”—he glanced in my direction as he pulled off—“my future mother-in-law isn’t diving you crazy?”

“Not yet.”

“Give her time.”

I laughed, and he smiled at me. I liked the way his lips curved. Oops. I totally shouldn’t have been looking at his lips.

He smiled wider then, and I looked elsewhere and cleared my throat. Oh no. Had he caught me staring at his lips? What the heck was wrong with me?

“So… umm… what kind of flowers do you like?” Stupid question. He was a guy. He just liked football and money. Gosh, I sounded like such a female chauvinist.

“Hmm… I have to admit, I’m partial to gladiolas and birds-of-paradise, but those aren’t exactly wedding appropriate flowers.”

I frowned. I didn’t know much about flowers, but birds-of-paradise didn’t sound like a real thing. Maybe he was pulling my leg.

“Haha,” I said.

“You know they’re a real flower, right?”

“Sure. Now you’re just trying to show off.”

He laughed, and I tried not to think of how much I liked the sound of it.

“Floral shop, here we come. So tell me about yourself, Becca.”

“Um...” What to say? What to say? Two truths and a lie sounded like a good approach. “I’m divorced. I like tacos, and I’ve never dieted in my life.”

Jeez. What was wrong with me? Tacos? Divorced? Dieting? Why did I mention that? And why was I talking about dieting of all things. And I hated tacos. I couldn’t eat them without getting messy, so I didn’t technically hate them. I loved them. But they sucked to eat.

“Hmm… out of all the things you said I have to take exception to the tacos. Tacos are delicious.”

“They are,” I conceded, “but then when you end up with taco sauce down your blouse it’s not so cute.”

“Gosh, I hate when taco sauce gets down my blouse. Especially the spicy sauce.”

I laughed. He was funny.

“But seriously,” he said, “tell me something about yourself. Something that other people don’t know.”

I thought hard about it. I might as well tell him the truth. Telling the truth wouldn’t blow my cover.

“When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a puppy when I grew up.”