Page 27 of The Comfort Trap

He takes a shaky breath, looking at me.

"Look, if this were a movie, there would be a perfect, poetic speech queued up right now."

He offers a self-deprecating, nervous grin, though his hands are still trembling slightly.

"But honestly? I’m terrified. I’m standing here with these flowers and an embarrassing amount of noise because I’ve spent way too long thinking about you. Eli said to do something really stupid to win you over, because it works, so here I am doing the dumbest thing I could think of."

He takes a step closer to the lobby doors, his expression softening.

"You’ve changed how I look at everything, Patrick. I don’t want to be anywhere else but across from you at a table—actually talking to you. I want to get to know you, the real you.”

He holds the flowers out, a silent, hopeful offering. "So... if you can overlook how stupid you make me act, will you let me take you out tolunch?"

I can feel a smile forming that I try to suppress. The whole scene is so absurd.

"Ricky..." I start, but all the anger from this morning replaced by something else, something warm and confusing. "It's eight in the morning."

"I know. I know, it's early," he says, stepping closer. "I've been up since five. I couldn't wait, I kept pacing around, getting stuck in my head." He gestures with the flowers, a few petals drifting to the sidewalk.“I couldn’t wait.”

I'm still leaning against the lobby door, one hand on the frame, my body caught between wanting to slam the door in his face and wanting to... what? Take the flowers? Let him take me to lunch? The thought sends a jolt through me.

"Where would you take me?" I ask.

He laughs, relieved. "Anywhere you want," he says. "But I was thinking about that little Italian place on Elm Street.They have a brunch menu. They also havered checkered tablecloths that you’llhatebecause it's trying too hard." He shrugs, a sheepish grin playing on his lips. "I called them. They don't open untilten, but the owner owes me a favor. Said he'd open early for us."

I stare at him, dumbfounded.He called them ahead of time.He pulled strings to get us in.

"Patrick?" he says, his expression softening as he notices my reaction. He takes another step closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne. "We don't have to go there. We can go anywhere. Or nowhere. I just... I want to spend time with you."

I'm still leaning against the door. I can feel the cool metal against my back, a contrast to the heat spreading through my chest. The morning air is cool against my skin, but I'm suddenly warm all over, a flush creeping up my neck that I know he can see.

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my face neutral, but my attention keeps drifting to the flowers in his hand. They're ridiculously vibrant. Deep red roses mixed with something purple and delicate I don't even recognize. The kind of flowers you see in movies, not the kind you buy at the corner bodega.

"Let me seethose," I say.

His grin widens, and he thrusts the bouquet toward me. I take them, my skin brushing against his, the brief contact sending a shock through me. The flowers are heavier than they look, the stems wrapped in some cheap green paper that's already damp from the dew.

"These areexpensive," I mutter as I bring the flowers closer, inhaling their scent. They smell sweet and a little overwhelming.

"Yeah," he says. "I figured you’d like those. AndI figured... Well, I figured if I went big, you might not be able to say no."

I glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

He shrugs, the movement jerky and uncharacteristically unsure. "Desperate times."

I can't help it—I laugh. It's a short, sharp sound, more surprise than anything, but it's real. Ricardo's face lights up.

I stare at him, the bouquet in my hands, the absurdity of the situation washing over me. The sun is rising higher, casting long shadows across the sidewalk, and here I am, half-dressed and probably still smelling like the tears I cried last night.

"I'm going inside to put these in waterand take a quick shower before we go," I say, turning toward the lobby door before I can change my mind. "And you're going to stay right here.Outside. Without the music… Don't move."

"Yessir," he says.

I step back into the lobby, letting the door swing shut behind me, cutting off the sounds of the street. For a moment, I just stand there, clutching the flowers to my chest, my heart pounding against my ribs. My reflection in thelobby’s mirroris a mess.

But there's something else too, a lookthat I don't recognize. A flicker of warmth, maybe. Or hope. God, I hope it's not hope. That would be the stupidest thing of all.

Chapter 15