Page 75 of Don't Be in Love

“You look very attractive James, don’t worry.”

“Well, that’s very nice to hear, but I meant in the photos.”

“Oh, sorry.” I laughed briefly.

“You look very attractive as well.” He looked down at me. His words weren’t light or breezy. Rather a strong gust of wind that pushed your hair back. It made me blink to regain my focus.

“Thank you,” I said softly, looking up at him. I brushed my knee off and stood.

“Could you move your hand like this and hold your lapel?” I placed my left hand against the right side of my chest.

“Like this?” he asked, awkwardly pinching the material.

“Can I?” I hovered my hand over his.

Despite his “okay,” his hand was still tense as I shifted it down and uncurled some of his fingers. His palm was smooth, clear of any calluses or ink that often painted the side of his hand.

“Adelaide.” That strong gust again. His tone pulled my chin up.

“James.”

He searched my face. The chestnut brown of his eyes was so different from Dorian’s dark orbs. His reminded me of a mahogany bureau mixed with vintage paper. Kindness lived in his color.

He opened his mouth and closed it, before parting his lips again. “I’d like to take you on a date.”

Oh.

Either one of my ribs detached from its cage and dragged against my heart, or the look on his face hurtthat much. Beautiful, sweet, kind James. Beautiful, sweet,kindJames wanted to go on a date. And I had to say no.

“I’m sorry.” The words fell from my mouth.

His mahogany eyes grew but looked anywhere but my face. “Oh. No, it’s—it’s fine, of course.”

“It has nothing to do with you—”

“Really, it’s alright—”

“No, no, I mean it, it’s not you. I don’t date. I don’t do the whole love thing.” His brows rose. I was royally screwing this up. “Not that I’m saying that’s what you’re looking for! I’m just trying to say I don’t do any of that.”

“You don’t do love?”

“I do not,” I said. “It’s um … it’s easier that way for—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” he said quietly.

Buzz.

He reached for his back pocket before glancing at the phone and accepting the call. “Hey,” he answered.

A pause as the person on the other line spoke.

“She left a while ago, sorry. Why, what’s wrong?” He walked the length of the room, listening.

“Mhm, mhm, okay. One moment,” he hummed. Pulling the phone from his ear, he asked, “Is there any chance you know how to sew?”

“I can hand sew like a basic stitch, why?”

“Do you have anywhere you need to be after this?”