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“What are you doing here?” I unlock my door and take a step into my place. “I thought you were going to your store.”
Following me inside, she flicks on the light switch. “I have a confession to make.”
Watching her lock the door, I shrug out of my trench coat. “What confession?”
She takes the coat from me and hangs it on the rack near the doorway. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Liv. You look like you might pass out. Do you want to sit down?”
“I’m fine.” I manage a small smile. “Tell me about the confession.”
She leads the way into my living room. She’s changed since I saw her at the restaurant. She’s now dressed in navy blue yoga shorts and a white T-shirt.
I’m envious. I want to trade my skirt and blouse for pajamas, but we still have plans to try on dresses to wear to the symphony.
She takes her usual spot on my couch, patting the spot next to her. “Sit.”
I do, kicking off my shoes in the process.
I breathe an audible sigh of relief. “My feet are killing me.”
A small giggle escapes her. “I know the feeling. I couldn’t get my heels off fast enough tonight.”
I look down at her feet and the thick gray wool socks covering them. “Did you go back to your store after dinner?”
“That’s the confession. I didn’t.” She catches my gaze. “I thought you’d appreciate some alone time with Alexander, so I lied about that.”
I can’t be mad at her. I’ve done the same to her, but Kate’s heart is still caught back in a relationship that ended years ago. She dates but those men never measure up to her ex-fiancé. He bailed on her just before their wedding.
“I didn’t overstep, did I?” She blinks innocently. “You can’t blame me, Liv. It’s obvious that he’s interested in you.”
“He’s not,” I whisper.
She heaves a sigh. “He’s interested in you.”
“He makes me nervous,” I laugh. “I don’t feel like myself when I’m around him.”
Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
I scan her face. I only see concern there. Kate wants me to be happy. I want the same for her. She’s heard enough of my tales about the men I’ve slept with to know that I don’t rush into anything, not even first dates.
I can be honest with her. She’ll never judge me.
“I feel flustered whenever I see him.” I rub the back of my neck. “I know his type. I avoid his type so I don’t understand why I’m feeling…”
“Attracted to him,” she interrupts me.
I shrug. “Is that what I’m feeling?”
“What’s his type?” she asks without answering my rhetorical question. “Define what type of man Alexander Donato is.”
I pause to think about it. “First impressions are everything and that day he came into the boutique I saw an arrogant, self-absorbed jerk who wanted everyone in his vicinity to bow to his demands.”
She shakes her head. “You saw a man desperate to give his nephew a birthday gift to remember.”
“You weren’t there,” I point out with a laugh. “You didn’t see what he was like that day.”
The corner of her mouth lifts into a lopsided grin. “I was there tonight. I saw what he was like.”
I raise a brow to question what that means.
