Page 58 of Business Casual
“Sure.” He nods, not looking up from his book. “Tell Nova I say hello.”
“I’m not having dinner with Nova.”
He flips another page. “She will presumably be there.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell her I say hello.”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
A smirk tugs at one side of his mouth. “Like what?”
“I don’t have time for you.” I start toward the door, then change my mind and turn back. “You’ve just lost your chance at tres leches.”
Alex drops his book to the counter and gives me an affronted look. “What? Why?”
“Because of your attitude.” I open the door. “You don’t deserve it.”
?The Porter housesits right at the edge of town, a sprawling rancher with a wide wraparound porch and crisp white shutters. A giant garden out front overflowing with wildflowers and tomato plants. I park behind Beckett’s truck and hustle my way up the ramp they built for Mr. Porter’s wheelchair, a bottle of wine under one arm and the book with a bouquet of flowers in the other. The book by itself felt stupid halfway through town, so I went back to Mabel’s and grabbed a bouquet. We ended up talking for fifteen minutes about posies and peonies, then a client called when I was in my car, and I spent another seven minutes sitting on the side of Main Street talking them downfrom reallocating half of their savings into a different investment portfolio.
More of my father’s handiwork. An indirect punishment, probably, for cutting our call short the other day.
The door opens before I can knock, and Nova stands in the threshold. The last time I saw her she was sleep-mussed and perfect, naked in her bed with her blankets pulled to her chin. Now she’s standing with her hip against the door, her hair twisted back in one long braid and a simple white fuzzy-looking sweater draped over her frame. Dark jeans and wool socks.
Affection, warm and surprising, fills my chest. She looks cute as fuck.
“Hey,” I call, trying to pretend I didn’t just trip up the ramp at the sight of her. “Were you waiting at the window?”
“In your dreams.” She shivers in the cold air, socked feet shuffling in the entryway. “I saw your headlights in the driveway and it took you a while to get in here. I was starting to wonder about you.”
I give her a wink as I drag my boots against the welcome mat. “I love it when you wonder about me.”
A smile teases at her bottom lip. She passes her fingers over it like she’s trying to hide it. “Get in here, Romeo. It’s cold.”
She ushers me in and shuts the door, pressing her back to it, hands tucked behind her. I watch her as I slip out of my jacket, glad to have her alone for a minute whether she was waiting for me or not.
“I meant to text you,” I say quietly, keeping my voice low.
“About what?”
“Tonight.”
Her face twists in confusion. “What about tonight?”
“I wanted to ask if you were okay with this. After…everything.”
“Everything, huh?” She presses up on her toes to glance over my shoulder, then falls back to the flats of her feet. Checking, I think, to see if anyone is within hearing distance. A coy smile curls her lips. “Have I been on your mind, Charlie?”
That feels like an understatement. She’s been circling there. I was buttoning my shirt this morning and caught a glimpse of a hickey on my hip in the mirror. I stared into space for thirty-eight seconds, half hard, the desire to be back in that bed with her so fierce it felt like a fist in my chest.
I halve the space between us until she has to tilt her head back to hold my eyes.
“I told you,” I tell her, voice low. “Alarming frequency and incredible detail.” I reach for the braid hanging over her shoulder and tug lightly. “Even better detail now.” Her eyes flash and a smile kicks up one side of her mouth. I drop her braid. “You sure it’s okay I’m here?”
“Of course it’s okay. We said nothing would change, Charlie. You’re allowed to come to dinner at my parents’ house.”
“I know what we said, but I don’t want to intrude,” I murmur.
