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“Exactly,” Cassidy says.
“But don’t worry—we won’t intervene unless it’s some kind of dating disaster,” Nora promises.
“Which it won’t be,” Cassidy chimes in, a twinkle in her eyes.
Nora disappears into the kitchen to fetch a few glasses for the champagne. I get changed into the red dress, which fits like a second skin and looks even better than I remembered, and Nora is just pouring me a glass of bubbly when the doorbell rings again.
“He’s here!” Cassidy sing-songs. “Quick, let’s do a toast.”
“A toast?” I ask.
“To finding storybook love,” she says, “wherever it may be.”
We clink glasses and I end up downing my champagne in one gulp because I don’t want to keep Prescott waiting—and I could use a dose of liquid courage anyway.
Then I go to the door, waving the girls away as I open it.
Prescott is standing there with a bouquet of delicate white and yellow frangipani, expensive flowers done up in a silk ribbon. He’s done up himself, in a finely tailored black suit. And his mouth drops open in blatant admiration as his eyes drink me in.
Score one for the red dress.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi. You look stunning.”
He gives me the flowers, and his eyes go over my shoulder as I realize that Nora and Cassidy have crowded behind me in the doorway.
“We’ll take those,” Cassidy says, reaching for the flowers. “We’ll put them in water for you.”
“The best friends, I presume?” Prescott asks. “Are you two coming with us?”
Nora shakes her head and pulls Cassidy away from the door, and I grab my clutch off a nearby table. “You get me all to yourself tonight,” I say, looking into those smoldering, dark eyes and nearly falling in.
“I’m a lucky man,” he says, and offers me his arm.
4
Prescott
“Seriously,” I tell Brooklyn as I lead her outside to my car. “You look amazing. I practically had to scoop my jaw off the floor when you opened that door.”
She’s blushing again, the color creeping across her exposed collarbones and up into her cheeks, and my mind is already going to filthy places, wondering where else I can make her heat up.
“So you’re not disappointed that my friends won’t be tagging along tonight?” she asks with a coy smile.
“Devastated,” I tell her, opening the passenger door for her.
She slides into my gunmetal gray Lexus, low to the ground with soft leather seats that I can’t help picturing her thighs sliding across.
“Nice ride,” she says. “I expected something a little more… modest.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I say, running my hand along the roof of the car. “This car’s my weakness though—one little luxury.”
If only she knew what I was driving around a few years ago. Audis, Porsches, I even rented a Lamborghini once just so I could show up in style to a party my parents were throwing. It disgusts me now, how much flash and extravagance I used to think I needed. I’m glad Brooklyn is meeting me now because I have a feeling she wouldn’t have liked me then.
“Well, it’s beautiful,” she says, running her palm over the leather.
“Hey, don’t get too familiar or I’m bound to be jealous,” I say, then close the door and come around to the driver’s side.
We head over to the theater in Golden Creek’s quaint, walkable downtown area. The festival is in full swing by the time we get there, with a carousel, food trucks and carnival games set up all along the street, and a stage for live music at the other end.
I buy a couple movie tickets for the two of us, plus a bag of popcorn and a couple of soft drinks, and we go into the theater. I hold the door for Brooklyn on the way in, letting my hand graze along the small of her back as she passes me, and honestly, I have no idea how I’m gonna get through this entire movie with Brooklyn just inches away from me… in a dark theater…
Damn, maybe this would have been easier if her friends tagged along.
The theater has a bar area at the back, and people can sit in traditional theater seats near the front or around tables in a large, open space near the bar. The place is packed and we find theater seats near the front. The lights have already been dimmed, and previews for the theater’s regular showings are playing. I hold the popcorn out to Brooklyn and ask, “So, what did you think of the outreach center?”
“It was great,” she says. “I wish I had more time to look around—seems like you do some really great things for those kids.”
“Yeah, I just wish they were better behaved,” I say. “Sorry again about Jaxon and Ty.”
I want to explain that Jaxon is in the foster system, that he’s been having a lot of trouble finding a stable home and so he acts out, but Brooklyn just smiles, needing no justification.
