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He mutters something under his breath and walks away.
Great. I’m fighting with both my best friends and I don’t even remember what I was doing before Nic interrupted me.
Doesn’t matter, because the noise falls away, the entire room dims, and time slows the moment my eyes catch her.
Mina.
I take off at a run—or as much of one as I can in this crowd—and she braces just before I tackle her into a wall.
“You came.” I am not going to start sobbing into her hair because I’ve missed her. Maybe a sniffle.
“You have no respect for this dress,” she complains and I laugh because she might be mad at me about buying that building, but she came for me. She’s still choosing me.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” I joke. “To show off that hot as hell dress some thoughtful, sexy man bought you.”
Her fingers are cool on my heated skin, sweeping over my cheeks. Her eyes are so tender I think I am going to cry a bit, because how did I get this lucky?
“I’m here to take you home,” she says softly.
“You aren’t mad at me?”
“I’m overwhelmed,” she admits. “I thought I needed some space to sort it all out and make some decisions, but I don’t want to do it alone. I need my best friend. I want to talk it over with you, without you fixing everything for me. Then maybe tacos and porn.”
This woman speaks my language. I will put that damn ring on her finger if it’s the last thing I do. But right now, I grab her hand and pull her toward the door. “We can be home in…way too long. I’m going to have to do things to you in the car, it can’t be helped. Might want to take your panties off right now.”
Mina laughs and I feel a million pounds lighter. We’re going to be okay. We’re going to talk out her problem and my impulsive gift, find a solution, and do it together.
Chapter twenty-eight
Mina
“Whateveryoudecide,I’mkeeping the property as an investment,” Timothy announces as he flips a strip of bacon the next morning.
He’s wearing nothing but the jockey shorts I made him and a pink polka dot apron he found in a drawer, his mom’s name embroidered over the chest. Every splatter of grease that manages to hit flesh makes him go “ow” in a quiet but gravely offended voice and I am not-so-secretly enjoying that he’s tolerating the pain to give me a view.
“I made some promises to Soraya and Eric,” he continues, “and it’ll get Mom off my back about jobs for a little while. Plus, Nic will give me shit for putting him through a PowerPoint presentation for nothing if I bail.”
My jaw drops. “You made a PowerPoint presentation?”
He grins at me over his shoulder. “It was all slides of models wearing Mioe dresses or standing around naked holding Eric’s handbags. Don’t get too excited.”
I laugh, but I’m relieved. I don’t want Soraya and Eric to lose out if I can’t jump. I still don’t know what to do about…well, any of my problems. Including his shop. “I’m still impressed.”
“Yeah, you are.” He winks at me and returns his attention to the bacon. “So the way I understand it, we have two separate but potentially related decisions to make.”
“Yeah.” Last night we cuddled, and cuddling turned into the softest, slowest, most intense sex of my life, and this morning I’ve been filling him in on all the things I hadn’t told him about.
He’s approaching this in a calm, rational manner, and it’s making me feel better. We’re tackling it as a team.
Timothy pokes at the bacon in the pan with the spatula, wincing when some grease spatters his hand. “Do we move to Connecticut so you can take on a lease your friend is offering, or do we stay here? If we stay here, do you want to have space in my shop to sell your product?”
That’s the big decision.
“And the second—ow, stupid bacon—is what to do about your supply-demand problem.”
I groan. That is the pressing one that could make the big problem moot if I fail. It’s the one I don’t want to deal with.
“So the big one.” Either he’s drawn to big or he doesn’t want to solve my immediate problem either. “We have more connections here, but I’m not sure that matters. If you want to go home, we’ll make new connections.” Timothy stops, spatula midair, and turns to look at me. The look in his eyes…it’s not hurt, exactly. But close. “Are you going to ask me to come with you, or do I need to invite myself? You didn’t ask last night.”
