First Comes Love - Ashlee Price Page 0,53
asks drily.
“No, you know I meant after.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Just that close call with Madeline rattled me. And I knew if I spent any more time in that locked room with you, I wouldn’t be able to help myself again.”
“Fine,” I say, pretending like his answer hasn’t made my smile as big as I am.
“Where are you?” he continues, “I can come meet you.”
“What if I have plans?”
“Tonight can work too.”
God, this man is insatiable. But in a good way.
“Sorry,” he says. “Forget it.”
“What?”
“I’m being pushy. You have your own life. You don’t owe me anything.”
“OK…”
My gaze wanders to Anchovy, who’s currently amusing himself with a spiky stick.
“Well?”
“Well what?” I ask.
He takes a breath. “Let’s start over. I’d like to see you now or later tonight. Or later this week, if you’re free. Does that work for you?”
I pretend to think about it, although I’m smiling, ready with my answer all the while. “Hmm… let me see… how about: yes, yes and yes. Does that work for you?”
“That works great for me.” The smile in his voice makes me smile bigger. I feel like an idiot. A silly-stupid, crazy-happy idiot. “Where should I meet you?”
“Well,” I say doubtfully, “I am walking Anchovy right now…”
“Sounds good. Where?”
“We’re in the middle of Bynaural Park, but we’ll probably stop by the rest station for Anchovy to get a bite to eat in about 15.”
“I’ll meet you there in 30.”
Although he really gets here in 25, with a wicker picnic basket to boot.
“What’s this?” I say with a little laugh.
He’s dressed in a fitted plain black t-shirt and jeans, and he looks just as handsome as he does in a suit.
“I figured since it’s almost dinnertime, and the caramel corn was on sale, why not have a picnic?”
I tip open the lid of the basket. “You didn’t…”
He did. Three bags of delicious-looking caramel corn, and what looks to be a fresh baguette, with ham, cheese and a fresh basket of strawberries too.
Right now, Greyson’s attention is otherwise occupied, though. Crouching down, he’s trying to get the attention of Anchovy, who’s currently gobbling down his favorite meat snack that I bought him.
“Believe me,” I tell Greyson, “Nothing short of his tail on fire will distract my little furry friend when he’s in Food Heaven.”
Still, Greyson gives Anchovy a little pat with the pad of his thumb.
“Are you trying to ingratiate yourself to me through my ferret?” I ask.
Raising himself upright, Greyson just smiles. “Is it working?”
I give him a quick kiss. “Maybe.”
The next few minutes go by in a whirr: our hunt for the perfect picnic spot, Greyson finding it right beside a tranquil pond and a massive willow. Next thing I know, we’re sitting, eating, passing the baguette back and forth, while Anchovy gobbles up our crumbs.
Afterwards, I lie down with my head in Greyson’s lap, watching the willow undulate in the breeze overhead.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says. “And for your help with my PR segment. Apparently, it’s already a hit.”
“Knew it,” I say. “I’ve never claimed to be a PR expert, but I do know truth when I see it. It’s refreshing. No wonder you’re a hit.”
“It’s not me, exactly. And compared to my dad…”
“What?” I sit up to give him a hard look. “You’re not as adept a liar? I don’t get why you keep comparing yourself to him.”
His look back at me is just as hard. “He was Storm Inc., Harley. Even if he did a lot of shit I’m not proud of.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. I… I’m in no position to judge your father. We don’t know his side of things, either.”
“Don’t be sorry, he was a dick in a lot of ways. Though you’re right, sometimes I wonder if I ever really knew him. And my mom and him, I think they just stuck it out for us kids. I’m not even sure if I was planned myself, or if it’s my fault that…”
I touch his arm. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. Maybe. They weren’t suited, my father and mother. She was too demanding, and he bucked at any whiff of control. He never liked sticking with things, either.” He looks at me again, although this time he isn’t really looking at me. “Even this whole ‘love’ thing people always talk about. Sometimes I wonder if it isn’t just another socially acceptable addiction. If it isn’t… Because I haven’t ever felt…”
Something thumps in me and I look away.
Why does it matter, that he’s said that? Why do