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By the time we reach his car, I’m buzzing with excitement.He didn’t forget.My mind races with all the possibilities the night holds. A romantic walk on the beach in Cove, a private dinner in the back room of a fancy restaurant. He’s probably made an exception for my no-gifts request, too. But my mood dampens around the edges when I twist around and see no beautifully-wrapped box on the backseat.
There’s nothing in the glove compartment, either.
Rafe starts the engine and looks over at me. “Looking for something?”
My mouth moves before I can stop it. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” I blurt out.
He rests his elbow on the center console, rubbing at his smirk. “Is it? Burger’s on me then, I suppose.”
My cheeks burn.They’re always on you, asshole.But I don’t say that. Instead, I steel my jaw and glare at the falling sleet dancing in the headlights. Surprisingly, my annoyance melts quicker than the ice landing on the car’s heated glass. Maybe it’s Rafe’s thumb rubbing circles on my thigh, or the fact he remembers to get me extra ketchup when he collects our order from the diner.
Warmth floods my stomach and blooms outward, heating my heart.Thisis what I want. Not the gifts or the money, butthis.This comfort, this stability, thislove.It’s everything this man gives me, every single day without fail.I’m suddenly so full it that by the time we’re climbing the hill to the church, I have a soppy grin on my face.
Rafe’s gaze meets mine, confused. “Fuck you looking at me like that for, Queenie?” He sweeps the horizon, as if looking for another billboard with his face on it. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing.” I bite my lip. For some reason, the wordlovehas lingered, and now it’s bubbling on the tip of my tongue. I’m trying my hardest not to let it slip out.
Rafe’s eyes narrow in suspicion, and I feel the urge to throw him a bone, at least. I slide my hand over his and bring his knuckles to my lips. “I’m just happy; that’s all.”
His expression softens. He watches me rub my mouth over his hand, and gives a small noise of approval. “Want to know a secret?” he whispers, uncurling his palm against my cheek and swiping my bottom lip with his thumb. A shudder of excitement rolls through me: every time he asks me that question, I always like what follows it.
I nod.
“I didn’t forget it’s Valentine’s Day.” His hand skims down my side and squeezes my hip. “Come here.”
I frown. “Where?”
He reaches down and slides his chair all the way back. He pats his thigh. “Here. And don’t say there’s no room. If there’s room for you to shake your ass in my face, there’s room for you to sit on my lap.”
With a slight tremble that I always get when I’m about to enter Rafe’s orbit, I unclick my seat belt and let him tug me onto his lap. I let out a shaky breath, resisting the urge to melt into his chest and drink in his soothing scent.
He presses a light kiss to my temple, reaches into the side door pocket, and drops something on my lap. It’s the weight of a money stack, but when I look down, I see it’s a perfectly wrapped rectangle.
“What is it?”
His chest rumbles against my back. “You’d find out if you opened it.” I rub my sweaty palms over my thighs and gingerly tug at the ribbon. Rafe lets out an impatient huff. “Jeez, Penny, it’s not a bomb—just open it.”
“All right, all right.”
I peel away the wrapping and squint down at it. It’s a book of some sort. When Rafe reaches up to click on the overhead light, an orange glow spreads through the car, and I realize it isn’t justanybook.
It’s bound in mustard-yellow leather with a title embossed on the cover.
Penelope Price for Dummies.
My throat grows thick. “What is this?”
Rafe doesn’t reply, instead, he slides his arm through mine and gently opens the cover to the front page. I read what’s printed on the thick, cream paper:
Penelope Price in Numbers
Height:Comes up to the third button of my shirt. Reaches the second button in heels
Weight:Perfect
Age:I try not to think about it
Alias:Queenie, Little Shit, Brat, Good Girl (note: this is rare; she’s never good)
