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It makes me laugh—and tingle—at the same time. “Wow.” I tap a teasing finger to my chin. “A true Renaissance man.”
He lifts an easy shoulder. “I try. What about you? Any hidden talents?”
“No, sadly,” I say, my lips curving. “Aside from my cat photography skills and a decent singing voice, I’m pretty average.”
“Not even close,” he murmurs. “Can I pick out more things for you to try on? Or do you intend to deny me the pleasure of buying you enough clothing to fill up your new suitcase? I popped out to grab one from the store next door before it closed.” He nods toward the register, where a shiny white carry-on suitcase sits next to the counter. The girl behind it is still on her phone, giggling at whatever video she’s watching.
But who needs fashion help from a salesperson when you have Bear as a personal stylist?
“I’m paying you back for that,” I say, fighting a grin as I point a stern finger at his chest. “And I’m paying for the clothes. I have savings and these are clearly classic pieces that will be in fashion for years to come.”
“No,” Bear says.
My chin rears back. “No?”
“No,” he repeats with a smile. “I’m paying. Consider it your Christmas present.” He glances at his watch. “I don’t want to rush you, but the store’s closing in fifteen minutes and we have a dinner reservation at eight.”
Huffing out a laugh, I ask, “What? Where? I didn’t realize airport restaurants took reservations.”
“They don’t.” He selects a loosely knitted black sweater with a satin camisole underneath it from the display behind him and holds it up for consideration. Like everything else he’s picked out, it’s gorgeous. “I got us a table at The Gateway Grill, the steakhouse at The Waterhouse Suites Hotel in the international terminal.”
The girl at the register looks up suddenly, her bright pink lips parting. “Oh my God, that place is great. I went there with my dad for my eighteenth birthday last year. Get the rib eye. It has more fat on it than the other steaks, but the way they cook it with the herbed butter on top is so fire.” She sighs and her thick fake lashes flutter. “I dream about that meal all the time. It’s going to change your life.”
Bear arches a brow my way. “How can you resist an endorsement like that?” He hesitates a beat before adding in a more cautious voice, “I also took the liberty of booking a room at the hotel. They only had one left and I wanted to lock it down before someone else did. If your flight is rescheduled to leave in the next few hours, I can always stay there alone, but I’m pretty sure I’m stuck here until tomorrow morning. Figured it was better to have a bed than end up camping out in the lounge with the frisky alligators and feral children.”
Pretending my pulse isn’t butterfly dancing in my throat, I nod. “That’s smart. And dinner sounds wonderful.”
Spending the night with him in a fancy hotel sounds even more wonderful, but I’m not going to let that happen. If my flight isn’t until tomorrow morning, I’ll go find an abandoned row of seats somewhere in the terminal and curl up there for the night—do not enter Bear’s swanky hotel room, do not make out with his sexy face.
Anything more than a meal and a heartfelt goodbye isn’t in the cards for us.
No matter how much I wish things were different.
I clear my throat, silently vowing to keep that promise to myself as I add, “But I can’t let you pay for the clothes. I’ll just get the green tracksuit. It’s affordable and I can wear it to dinner and sleep in it tonight, too, if needed.”
“Oh, stop,” the girl says, rolling her eyes as her lips stretch into a grin. “You’re going to ruin the Pretty Woman vibes, girl. He’s trying to spoil you with clothes. Let it happen. I’ve been texting my friends about this romantic amazingness for the past ten minutes. If you don’t let him whip out his credit card and treat you like a princess, we’re all going to be so bummed.”
“You do deserve to be treated like a princess,” Bear says, making no effort to shut down his young accomplice.
“I do not,” I say, reminding him in a hushed voice, “I ghosted you.”
“But only because you’re afraid of how much you want to be my girl,” he says, making my heart stutter and all the blood drain from my face. “And it’s not a big deal. I’m over it,” he pushes on, ignoring my stunned condition as he tosses the black sweater my way. I catch it and he says, “Try that with the black satin jeans on the rack next to you and the black leather boots on the wall. I’ll grab you some tennis shoes to wear with the other things.”
