Page 71 of Spicy Ever After
“Oh… Right.”
And if I thought I’d seen Beck’s full blush before, I stand corrected.
“Hattie—you—looking at it like that?” Beck shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Not helping.”
“Oh—” I whip my gaze away and put it on the pond. It’s lovely, of course, but I don’t like looking at it as much as I like looking at Beck, so I go back to that but keep my gaze trained on his blushing, smiling face.
I really like his face. I really like all of him.
“How about you?” Beck asks. “You feeling better?”
Yeah, I really like all of him.
I nod. “I’ll probably nap when I get home, but I’m good now.”
A moment later, Beck gets to his feet and reaches down a hand to me. Willing myself not to look at his crotch, I take it, and he pulls me up. And this is when I get further evidence that Beck is strong.
He snags the blanket and folds it up while I toss our paper cups and beignet basket in a nearby bin. Then Beck tucks the blanket under one arm and takes my hand with the other.
We head to the parking lot. For the first time this morning, we’re quiet, but neither one of us walks fast.
And I didn’t know that walking quietly through the park holding someone’s hand could be so nice.
I’m not ready for this Hell-Yes-It’s-A-Real-Date-Coffee-Date to end, and I hope the slow walk to my Jeep means he isn’t either.
“Can I call you tonight?” Beck asks as we approach the crosswalk to the parking lot.
“Hell, yes,” I say, and even though I don’t mean for it to be funny, he laughs. And I know he’s not laughing at me.
When I stop in front of the Jeep, he does a double take. “This is yours?”
“It belongs to my dad.”
While Beck looks at the Jeep, his lips disappear between his teeth and he nods a weird, slow nod.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He looks at me in confusion. “What’s what?”
“This?” I point to my face and then bite both of my lips and mimic his weird, slow nod.
Beck smothers a grin and shakes his head. “Just glad you’ve already seen my truck aaaand,” he stretches out the word, “we’ve already decided that neither one of us could be inferior.”
I think about his truck with the perfect shade of sweet potato orange on the driver’s side door. And the tailgate where he picked me up—like I said, he’s strong—and made me feel better that first time we met.
“I like your truck,” I announce.
“Thanks,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. That persimmon blush is back.
Considering all the ways I embarrassed myself this morning, it’s kind of nice that I’m not alone—even though I don’t think there’s anything about Beck he should be embarrassed about.
But speaking of being embarrassed?—
“We need to say goodbye. You aren’t allowed to watch me reverse from my parking spot.”
Beck wrinkles his forehead. “Wait—what?”
“You heard me.”
