he chuckles quietly next to me. I fire a glare his way, and he makes a show of smoothing his face of any humor.
Bastard.
“So,” Jen continues, “as a compromise to keeping it open, I agreed to a vacation in Hawaii for our anniversary in a couple of weeks. Which sounds so First World problem, I know.” She laughs. “But it does lend me a problem in that I have no one to manage the shop while we’re away.”
I take a deep breath and focus on the lights that flow by the truck instead of on the way my spirits soar entirely too high.
“I was hoping you’d come in and do that for me,” she says. “I don’t know when you were thinking to start, but it would be the first of the week.”
“Yes,” I almost shout. “Of course. Oh, Jen, I’d love to.”
“Great. You did an amazing job with the arrangement the other day, and your passion for flowers reminds me so much of my own. I can start you off two dollars more an hour than you were making at the library, which I talked to Sandra about today. I hope that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
“Perfect. If you want to come in and train next week, you could officially start then.”
I cover my face with my free hand. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try not to squeal. “Yes. I’d love that,” I say.
“Great. Come by sometime Monday or Tuesday and we’ll hash out the details. Welcome aboard, Haley.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
She ends the call, and I let my phone drop to my lap.
“So?” Trevor asks. “You’re killing me, woman.”
I turn slowly to look at him. I can feel my eyes widen, the heater in the truck drying them out. “I got the job.”
Trevor smiles the biggest smile I’ve seen him share as he grabs my leg and squeezes it. “Congratulations,” he says. “That’s awesome. Are you excited?”
“Yeah,” I say, still in disbelief. “I’m kind of shocked, but, I mean, this is . . . amazing.”
“It is amazing.”
The truck pulls to the curb in front of my house. Trevor cuts the engine and climbs out while I search for my phone, which somehow dropped on the floor. By the time I’ve picked it up and have my bearings, he’s opened the door.
He takes my hand, his palm warm and strong. I step out and follow him to the door.
“Guess I don’t need that résumé,” I say softly as we step onto the porch.
“I mean, maybe not now,” he says. “But it’s always a good thing to have on hand.”
He runs his fingers through his hair. Peering down at me, his eyes sparkle in the moonlight, and I want to reach up and touch his face. And thank him for dinner. And the support. And making me feel so capable . . . and pretty.
“I think tomorrow calls for a celebration dinner,” he says. His voice is soft in the night air, and despite the warm temperature, I shiver. “I know planning ahead is against the rules, but you’ll have to cut me some slack on this one.”
“Great,” I say, giving in to the happiness I feel.
“It was that easy?”
“Who am I to tell you not to celebrate me? That’s ridiculous.”
He chuckles. He takes a step closer, his eyes locked on mine, and for a long moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.
His head dips down, his cologne filling my nostrils, and I war with myself about whether to lift my chin and prepare to dissolve or to take a step back like the smart woman I am pretending to be.
If only he weren’t so delicious, if spending time with him weren’t so easy. Fun. Tempting.
The battle inside my brain takes a second too long. Trevor’s lips quirk up as he leans away.
“I forgot about Jesus,” he whispers.
I laugh. The frustrated, pent-up aggression is heavy in the notes, and it makes Trevor laugh too. I stick my key in the lock with a little more force than it requires and pop the door open.
“Tomorrow at seven?” he asks.
“Perfect.”
He leans forward and presses the very edges of his lips to my cheek. My breathing slows, my heart thumping evenly in my chest as I feel the sparks shooting through my veins rattle off like a holiday fireworks show.
When he pulls back, he smiles. “Good night.”
“Good night” is all I can say.
I watch him walk down the sidewalk and get to the front of his truck.
“Go in,” he says. “Lock the door.