Page 129

I sighed. “I’m just not used to this.”

“You better get used to it. Giving gifts is how your man shows his love.”

Heat crawled up my neck, and I lowered my voice to a whisper. “My man?”

“Sorry,” she said, slinking back toward her office. “Your date.”

Later, in his office, I told Cam what Ivy had done, and he shrugged, totally unsurprised. “She mentioned it to me.”

“It was thousands of dollars,” I whispered so no one outside the office would hear.

“You’re worth it.”

Dear Lord, this man.

His ability to say the things that would drive straight into my insecurities and blow them away was some sort of fantastical superpower. I must have been gaping because he laughed and rose from his chair. He clicked the door shut and spun my chair so I faced him, then braced his weight on either armrest.

The air disappeared from the room. Blue eyes. Scarred eyebrow. Kissable lips.

“You”—he planted a lingering kiss on my mouth—“are worth it.”

I couldn’t speak, so he kissed me again.

“Okay?” he asked when we separated.

I nodded distractedly and pulled him down for another.

Forty-Three

With Maribel’s parents on an extended vacation in Florida, she opted to host Thanksgiving that week at Ravi’s. The three of us prepared a feast for Ravi’s parents and my mama, who “borrowed” not one, but six pumpkin pies from the diner, one for each person. Cam sent a picture of the lavish dinner spread he was enjoying at Nessa’s parents’ home in Buckhead, and I favored him with a snapshot of the pies.

That table belongs in a magazine.

I’d rather be with you.

With me or the pies?

Definitely the pies. Don’t get cocky.

I’d rather be with you too.

Friday, I was lazing about in a post-Thanksgiving food coma when Ivy appeared at Ravi’s house with a garment bag in hand. She thrust it at me. “You wear this with black stilettos, you hear?”

I took the bag, surprised at the weight. “Yes, ma’am.”

She jutted her chin toward the inside of the house. “Now, go try it on before I leave.”

I led her into the living room where I’d been cringing at the newest true crime documentary on Netflix. Why did Maribel love to binge stories about murderers?

Ravi paused it as soon as we entered.

Ivy directed a charming smile toward my friends. “Hi, y’all. Mind if I crash a moment?”

“Not at all!” Maribel, wide-eyed, scrambled to stand and offer Ivy a seat. “Would you like a beverage?”

Ravi shot her a strange look. “A beverage?”

Maribel ignored him. “Maybe some pumpkin pie?”