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Then Greyson turned around, and she gasped. “I am not going to need to work to memorize that face. Oh my god, you didn’t tell me he was gorgeous.”
“Don’t embarrass me,” I begged through my smile, given the way she was openly staring at Greyson.
He gave us both a broad grin in return as he headed toward us.
“You two are going to make beautiful children!” Carrie said.
Hopefully Greyson hadn’t heard that.
“You’ve seen him, now it’s time to go,” I told her, giving her a little push. “You can’t be late for work.”
“Yes, I can. What’s going to happen? People die?”
“Yes! Go!”
She raised two fingers to point to her own eyes, then turned them on Greyson in the international signal ofI’m watching you.
“Have so much fun,” she told me cheerfully, as if she hadn’t just set me up for the most awkward date anyone could have without prune juice. Then she walked off, and I followed her with my eyes until the coffee shop door closed with a tinkle of bells behind her.
“She’s right, you know.” Greyson loomed over me, given his height. The smile he directed my way made me feel warm all over. “We will make beautiful babies.”
“Let’s see how the night goes. I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”
The barista called the nameGreyson.
“I’d better order,” I moved toward the counter.
“Wait.” He touched my arm, holding me back, though his grip was gentle. “I ordered for you.”
“You did?”
“You look like a chai girl to me,” he said, then moved to the counter.
He returned carrying two to-go cups.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Ordering for me? Is this the 1950s?”
“Just take a sip and have some faith.”
I shrugged and raised it to my lips. The spicy scent of the tea wafted up along with the steam, and I took a sip.
It was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted.
“Do you still doubt me?” His eyebrows arched in a way that was adorable.
“I trust you to order beverages for me,” I conceded. “I still don’t trust you not to be a murderer.”
“I would never hurt you, Kennedy.”
Later on, it would occur to me that he specifically never said he wasn’t a murderer. He just promised that I was safe with him.
“Let’s walk,” he told me, offering me his arm.
I let out a laugh. I’d never walked with my hand looped through the crook of a man’s arm before, at least not that I remembered.
“You are surprisingly old fashioned,” I told him, tentatively taking his arm. His forearm felt hard and corded under my grip.
“I want to treat you well,” he told me. “And like I said, I do have twoveryopinionated sisters.”
