Page 24 of Drop Dead Gorgeous
That impossible sincerity.
No embarrassment.
No awkwardness.
He simply says exactly what he means.
"I'm not very good at returning things," he admits. "Usually . . . they're left behind."
Something in the way he says it catches me off guard.
Not sad.
Just true.
"No," I murmur more to myself than to him. "You really don't fit anywhere, do you?"
"If you'd still like the vase back . . ."
"I would."
I take it from him, our fingers almost brushing.
Almost.
The smallest spark skitters across my skin.
He notices.
I know he notices because his eyes flick briefly to my hand before meeting mine again.
Neither of us says anything.
Instead, I clear my throat.
"If you'd like some tea, you're welcome to stay. I have to finish the window display, and arranging flowers is considerably less lonely when someone else is pretending to supervise."
"I wasn't aware I was supervising."
"I've promoted you."
"To what?"
I pretend to think.
"Assistant florist."
His expression remains perfectly serious.
"I don't have any experience."
"I've hired worse."
To my immense satisfaction . . .
He almost laughs.
Almost.
