Page 148 of Bridesmaid Undercover
“You shaming me?” he asks.
“Nope. Merely impressed over here. If I had the stomach for it, I’d be doing the same thing. Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t have the stomach for it though. I would find myself in a pile of cronuts.”
He leans his head to the side to look at me. “You like cronuts?”
“Obsessed,” I say. “If you say you don’t like them, I’m going to need you to vacate my car. Thank you.”
“I love them,” he says softly.
“Are you a fan of all flavors or is there one in particular you love?” I ask as I scoop up more ice cream.
“I’m afraid to say.”
Thank God he’s talking. It might be a mundane conversation, but it’s better than him growling at me.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because what if it’s the same as you?”
“Oh, the horror,” I deadpan. “That would be the worst thing that could ever happen.”
He lightly chuckles. “We have too much in common.”
“I know, terrible thing, isn’t it?”
I feel his mood start to lighten up, his shoulders relaxing, and for the first time since I ran into him in his office building, he actually looks me in the eyes. “Would be terrible,” he says. “Means I’d have to get another matching shirt with you.”
Gah, those eyes. They slay me.
If only there was a smirk, I would melt right here in my car.
“Another matching shirt? Yuck. You’re going to make me throw up just thinking about it,” I say. “Gross. Disgusting. You know what, don’t tell me your favorite cronut flavor because if we have to get another set of matching shirts, I might just dunk my head into the bay to scream out my disgust.”
He chuckles. “Can’t have you screaming into the bay—you might scare the sea animals.”
“One hundred percent I would scare them. You’ve never heard me scream. And under water, the whales would think an octopus got its tentacle stuck under a rock.”
“Ooo,” he winces. “Terrible sound.”
“Tell me about it. So glad we’re saving all the whales from having to listen to that.”
“Real saviors over here,” he says.
The joking tone, the easygoing nature…it fills me with relief, because whatever was bothering him felt like a heavy weight on my shoulders. Being this close, it almost felt like it was difficult to breathe, to focus, to concentrate on any sort of conversation.
But now, it’s like the air is flowing again, the ease is rolling, our friendship feels reinstated.
“But off the record, in case you needed to know, my favorite is the matcha Oreo,” I say.
I glance over at him and catch him shaking his head.
“What?” I ask.
“The fucking whales are going to hear it.”
A smile plays on my lips. “No. Nope…no. Don’t even say it. I’m going to be mad if you do. Because at this point, it’s like, get your own opinion, Hardy. Stop copying me.”
“Who’s to say I’m copying you?” he asks.
