Page 107 of What We Brave
He's holding flowers. Actual flowers — a small bunch of something purple and wild-looking, not the stiff grocery store roses that screamI panicked at the last minute.
Also scowling at me.
"You didn't even check it was me before you buzzed me up, Laine. That's not fucking safe."
Not exactly how I was expecting to start off the night. I want to argue with him, that Eugene's safe, and I knew he was coming. That I wasn't in any danger. But he looks like that's exactly what he wants me to do. "I've lived in some rough places, and I would have been pretty careful there. But you're right. I should have checked."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. "I — fuck. Okay." He clears his throat, glancing down at his hands, then giving me a nervous smile. "Hey," he says, and his voice has that rough edge to it.
"Hey yourself." He's adorable. Am I a little proud I threw him off his game? Yeah, totally.
He holds out the flowers like he's not entirely sure what to do with his hands now that I've answered the door. "These are, uh. The woman at the shop said they were called something, but I already forgot. They reminded me of —" He stops. Clears his throat. "They're purple. You like purple."
I take them, and something warm blooms behind my ribs. He noticed. Of course he noticed — Blake notices everything, files it away in that quiet, observant way of his. But the fact that heremembered, that he turned that observation into this small, tangible thing...
"They're beautiful," I say, and mean it. "Let me put them in water. Come in?"
His shoulders drop slightly. Like he was braced for rejection.
"Blake." I wait until he meets my eyes. "I'm glad you're here."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Something shifts in his expression. Not quite a smile, but close. "Good. That's — good."
I find a glass for the flowers, fill it with water, set them on my kitchen counter. When I turn back, Blake's watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip.
"Ready?" he asks.
"Ready."
His hand finds the small of my back as we walk to his truck. Light pressure, guiding without pushing. I let myself appreciate it instead of analyzing it. The warmth of his palm through my blouse. The steadiness of his presence beside me.
This feels safe.The thought catches me off guard. I've spent so many years being the competent one, the capable one, the one who handles things. With Blake, I can just... let someone else be solid for a minute.
Reid makes me feel safe too. But it's different. Not better or worse, just — different. Reid's safety is warm and bright, like standing in sunlight. Blake's is quieter. Like a wall at your back.
And now I'm comparing them. Which is exactly what I told myself I wouldn't do.
Stop it.Just be here. Be on this date. With this person.
Blake opens the passenger door for me. Old-fashioned. Sweet.
"Where are we going?" I ask as he climbs in the driver's side.
"Place called The Willow. Small, quiet. You'll like it."
We drive through the city as sunset paints everything amber and rose. Blake's hands are relaxed on the steering wheel, but I notice his eyes checking mirrors, noting other cars.
"You do that a lot," I say.
"Do what?"
"Watch everything. Everyone."
He's quiet for a moment. "Habit."
