Serenading Heartbreak - Ella Fields Page 0,41

the phone. “You don’t know my dad, Petal.” He’d called me that ever since he found out where I worked. He paused, and I knew what was coming before he said it. “Oh.” Amused laughter bubbled. “That would be too good. You come with, and he’ll forget all about the fact I didn’t get him a stupid present.”

“You can’t keep using me as an excuse to get out of shit with your dad,” I told him, refilling my water bottle at the sink.

“What do you even mean? He already loves you, and he hasn’t even met you.”

“Prince,” I warned, muttering about the mixtape Adela and I were trying to find the night before as I entered my room.

“What?” He said something to someone in the background, then laughed at whatever they said back. “Wait, did you just say mixtape?”

“Sure did.” I tugged out a box from beneath my bed and lowered to the ground to rummage through it.

“I’m sorry, how very eighties of you.”

“Shut it,” I said, grinning when I finally found it beneath some records. “Got it!”

“Pray tell, what’s on this mixtape?” His voice lowered a few decibels. “Hang on, is it a dirty tape?”

I snorted. “No, and it belonged to my parents. Adela and I used to dance to some of the songs on it when we were kids. We were wondering if I brought it when we moved here.” I flipped the cassette over, inspecting the back. “It was bugging me, not knowing.”

“You’re too fucking cute. What songs? Fleetwood, Abba, the Stones?” He started to hum a bad rendition of “Ruby Tuesday,” and my eyes widened.

“Dear God, you’re a worse singer than I am.”

He sputtered. “I’ll have you know I was once told I had a brilliant voice.” He paused. “And then my voice broke, and it all went to hell.”

We both laughed then and settled into a comfortable silence. I could hear him getting into his car, the change of his voice as the door closed and the phone connected to the Bluetooth. “I miss you. Let me come over for another movie night.”

“And have Adela watch us like we’re two teens who might kiss at any moment? Awkward.”

“All right. That was awkward, but I’ll break the ice a bit better this time.”

“What are you doing?” I asked, changing the subject. We’d grown closer since he’d first come over to our apartment, and it often worried me how comfortable I was speaking to him yet how uncomfortable I got when he was too close.

I liked it a little too much.

“Heading home from the team meeting.”

I’d learned Aiden had been accepted into Duke, but he wanted to play ball for a living, and Raslow was the only college that had offered him a full ride. It’d caused some contention between him and his dad, who apparently wanted him to take over the family business, but things were civil, he’d said.

“We can hang tomorrow?” I offered, tapping my fingers on the side of the box. “Maybe grab some dinner?”

We’d been out for dinner a handful of times since I’d met him before Thanksgiving, so I didn’t feel like I was leading him on by asking.

“Sure. Bonnie’s?” he asked, meaning the little diner we preferred near my work.

“Duh,” I said. “Later, Prince.” I hung up before he could leave me with a lasting line of his that never failed to make me question why I kept him in the friend zone.

I only had to look at the tape and the records in the box, and recall all the times Everett had sung along to some of the songs to remember why.

“Am I too dressed up?” I asked Aiden, glancing down at my floral skirt, heeled wedges, and plain white tank.

The March air was crisp, and I shrugged on my leather jacket as Aiden eyed me from where he was leaning against the brick exterior of Bonnie’s.

His team blazer gave the impression of a young grease monkey with his perfectly swept back hair and tight jeans. “With that jacket, you look like sex on legs. Come on, I’m fucking starved.”

He held out his arm, and I looped mine through it, smiling when he leaned in to kiss my cheek and inhale my curls. “I felt like making an effort after embarrassing you in my cutoffs and band shirt last time.”

He waited for me to slide into the lime green booth before sliding in on the other side. “I’m not even going to comment because I’ll probably call you something stupid.

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