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I scowl again. “Awful. I’d rather lose to her fair and square.”
Abby tips her head. “And there you go. But you could make her the offer, just to be sure. And then you two should find something to be fiercely competitive about together. You’ll have more fun if you’re on the same team.”
The same team. With Gigi.
It sounds like the way I want to end every day and wake up every morning.
“I’m going to head out a little earlier than planned,” I say. “Is that all right?”
“Of course. I told you to leave earlier. Sometimes the trains to Coney Island are slow on Fridays, and you don’t want to be late for the competition.”
“No, I don’t,” I murmur, heading for the door only to spin around and head back to the garden to say goodbye to my friend.
But Graham is already on his way through the dining area to the counter and waves me off. “Go. Profess your love. I’ll touch base later. And good luck, whatever you decide.”
I lift a hand to him, and then to Abby, indicating that she should give Graham whatever he wants at no charge, and then I leave before he can start a fight about it.
I have too much to get done before four o’clock to waste even a second. I have a woman to woo and charm and convince that the hopeful part of her is my favorite part.
Because I’m hopeful too, and I aim to prove it.
23
GIGI
I step out of the subway at the Coney Island stop and make my way down the ramp. My heart is pounding restlessly even before a homeless woman in a prom dress nearly mows me down with her shopping cart by the entrance to the boardwalk.
I’m losing my cool. All of it.
And not because it’s eighty-five degrees and I’m starting to have serious concerns about my ice cream treat surviving long enough to be judged in this heat.
No, I’m nervous because instead of retreating to safer ground I went and crawled out onto an even skinnier, spindlier limb.
Those antique teacup cufflinks at the local flea market I visited during my lunch break were too perfect for West not to be purchased. One does not simply ignore a gift from the shopping gods. But I could have bought them and set them aside for a later date or a special occasion. I didn’t have to immediately gift them to him with a brutally honest note about My Feelings.
And yes, I bought a cover present for his sister too, but I’m not fooling anyone. Not myself. And not West, I’m sure.
He’s very smart. It’s one of the things I like best about him, in fact. His big sexy brain. And I’m sure that big sexy brain of his knows exactly what a big deal that present and that note are for me.
And surely, he’s received both by now.
Abby promised to give them to him before he left for the competition.
But it’s been a while.
I check my phone as I wander down the crowded boardwalk toward the Mr. or Mrs. Sweet Stuff tent, this time set up by the carousel beside the beach.
Yep, nearly three hours since I made the drop. And I haven’t heard from West. Not a call or a text or so much as a sparkly-eyed emoji to communicate his feelings about my feelings.
I tell myself he was slammed at the shop and then probably rushing around to get ready for the contest and just hasn’t had the chance to text.
But I’m still nervous.
Fidgety.
So on edge that when a low voice purrs behind me, “Excuse me, are these ears taken?” I jump several inches in the air and let out a squeal that makes everyone in front of me turn to stare.
I wave at the concerned Coney Island citizens—tourists, clearly, judging by the gaudy T-shirts and the hands full of hot dogs and overpriced cotton candy—and turn to West.
“You can’t sneak up on me,” I say with a laugh as I swat at the general vicinity of his stomach. “I’m high strung before battle.”
“Sorry.” He looks gorgeous in a white button-down, navy tie, and a gray suit vest and pants with his cooking bag slung over his shoulder.
I can’t resist the urge to reach out and tweak his collar. “You look amazing.”
“Same to you, gorgeous.” His gaze gobbles me up in a way that makes me feel gorgeous—and silly for being nervous. Clearly West is every bit as happy to see me as I am to see him. He holds out his wrist with a grin. “Thank you for the gift. They’re perfect.”
I glance down, taking his hand in mine and spinning the little teacup cufflink with a satisfied sigh. “They are. If I do say so myself. Which I do.”
“And you should.” He reaches into his pocket with his free hand. “I was so touched that I had to get you a little something in return.”
