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“Alone?”
“Not if I don’t have to be.”
“You never have to be alone again, beautiful.”
Stunned by my own much too open response as much as the one he gave me in return is what spirals me into switching subjects. “Got quite the haul there.” Mirth trickles back into my tone. “Didn’t know we had any all-night grocery stores.”
“I got these before work,” he casually confesses during his rise to his feet.
“Yeah?” After adjusting the strap to my leather workbag, I ask, “How’d you know I wouldn’t cancel, making all that food you bought a waste?”
All of a sudden, a single stem white lily is presented for the taking. “Call it hope.”
Whatever resistance or reluctance that was lingering completely vanishes leaving in its wake the emotion that evidently brought him.
I honestly hoped he’d be here, too.
And I hope even more that he doesn’t leave before sunrise.
Once the flower has been transferred from his grip to mine and given a courtesy sniff, I sweetly state, “Thank you for this.”
His warm wink gets my heart hammering yet again.
“Need help bringing stuff in?”
“Not at all.”
Two steps back and one impressive collecting motion is all it takes for him to be ready to enter my one-story home.
I promptly grant us access, making sure to hold the door open for him and locking it after we’re both inside. The tour isn’t anything grand or even close to the spectacle I was given by my realtor when he was pitching me to buy. Due to the open floor plan, it doesn’t require more than a couple finger points in different directions regarding bedrooms and bathrooms prior to our arrival in the kitchen.
Tate swings the bags onto the countertop prompting me to announce, “I’m gonna go change out of my scrubs really quick. Feel free to make yourself at home.” A nervous fidgeting of my bag occurs. “You can take off your shoes or whatever. Connect to the Bluetooth if you wanna play music.” Backing up towards the archway that leads to the hall is slowly done. “There’s booze in the fridge if you need a drink.”
“Do you?” Tate teasingly ponders.
Maybe.
Possibly.
He steals a small bite of his bottom lip and offers me a sly smirk.
Definitely.
Probably several if he keeps that shit up.
Instead of answering, I merely mumble, “Be right back.”
Except instead of doing that I panic hide in my bedroom. I lock the door. Ditch my shoes. Socks. Strip out of my scrubs and underwear until I’m completely naked. I stare at myself in the full length mirror near the bathroom and mentally red marker all the problem areas I see.
And you know what?
If I can see these bitches, that means he can see them, too.
And he can hate them.
Be disgusted by them.
Which he probably will be.
