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Cali
Why didI invite him over? I have so much work to do.
The thought rattles around in my brain as I pace the kitchen. I worked on paperwork for Dirty Hoes all day and it’s still nowhere near finished. The doorbell rings and I jump, cracking my elbow on the doorway.
I rub the smarting spot and call out, “Just a second!”
I stop by the wall mirror by the door. I check my makeup and fix my hair, running my fingers through my locks. My usually straight hair has held the beach waves I put in it this morning, thanks to a ton of hairspray. Usually I’m content to tie my hair back, throw on some mascara, and call it a day, but I figured this date warranted a bit more effort.
Is it a date? Does Quill think it’s a date? What else can it be when you have dinner one-on-one with someone?
I take a deep breath and open the door. Quill turns with a picnic basket in his hands.
“Wow.” His lips lift and his eyes sparkle in the moonlight.
Guess he likes what he sees.
“Hello. Come in.” I wave him inside.
He looks even more handsome than yesterday, the right amount of dressy and casual with crisp blue jeans, a navy dress shirt, and dark brown loafers.
I shut the door. My knees weaken, and my throat tightens as he holds up the basket.
“Dinner is served.”
“What did you make?” Over text today, I tried to convince him not to bring something and that I could make dinner, but he insisted. And the majority of me is really thankful he didn’t cave. I would’ve gotten even less done and been feeling the time crunch even more than I am. As it is, I’m only slightly annoyed at myself, but really happy he’s here.
“You’ll have to wait and find out. But I have something special for you.” He sets the large basket down on the coffee table and runs to the door. He opens it and steps outside.
He’s not running away already, right?
While he’s outside, I open the top of the picnic basket. Thick scents of garlic and tomato hit the air.
Italian? The man knows the way to my heart is carbs. And I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like pasta.
He comes back in with a familiar bright pink box.
“I know where that box is from.”
He shrugs. “I figured, but I hope you like it anyway.”
I lift a small pink box from his hands, marveling at how it weighs more than I expected. I open the top and find a single orchid. The fluorescent pink petals contrast against the white of the box’s interior. I pull it out and it’s one of our most expensive hand-painted pots. I don’t even have one of these.
“Are you trying to bribe me to like you?” I ask with narrowed eyes.
He leans closer. “Is it working?”
“Kinda. This pot is really expensive, Quill,” I say quietly, feeling a little uncomfortable. “You really shouldn’t—”
“You’re worth it. I can see you work hard, and probably don’t ask for much more than you need. I want you to have it. It’s like me bringing flowers. You wouldn’t turn those down, right?”
“Well, no. But I know how much this cost and that’s a lot…”
He steps closer. I can smell his cologne. A mash-up of soft amber and cherry blossom.
He slips his fingers along my jawline then wraps them into my hair. “You deserve so much more. I hope you’ll accept this gift and maybe many more from this point on.”
“Whoa there, Doc. Let’s take it slow and see what happens.”
