take a chance tonight. Be flirty .
I knew beach-girl was just a version of myself I was aspiring to be, but I hadn’t thought being flirty was in my vocabulary. Apparently, Josh was already bringing out new elements of myself.
I glanced out the window again and saw Josh grabbing something from his saddlebags before he disappeared behind the back of the house. I couldn’t get a good look at what he was wearing. I flipped my hair one last time and grabbed my clutch. I was going on a date! I winked at beach-girl and then headed downstairs to open the door.
Josh was at the kitchen door rather than the front.
“I was just making sure that everything was locked up good and tight for the weekend,” he said by way of explanation. Then he gazed at me, from the top of my curled hair to the tips of my painted toenails. “You look beautiful, Heather…”
I stared right back at him. At his piercing blue eyes, his hair slicked back on the sides, as if wet, except for a few strands falling rebelliously over his forehead. Oh my, he looked hot. He wore his leather jacket over a white linen shirt—the first two buttons undone—tucked into well-fitting jeans that were neither faded nor ripped, a black leather belt, and … socks without shoes? His hotness factor dipped until I saw his biker boots on the stoop and a plastic bag in the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet.
He gave the bag a shake. “I brought nicer shoes to wear out to dinner. “
“Oh.” I opened the door wider so he could come in.
Before he pulled said shoes from the bag, he withdrew a cellophane-sleeved rose and handed it to me. It was an unusual peach color, the exact shade of the tank top I was wearing. He winked and said, “Fate strikes again?”
I smiled but shook my head and corrected him in my best Miranda interpretation. “Coincidence.”
He shrugged and smiled, too. “If you say so. Hey, do you mind if I leave my helmet and boots here?”
I looked around at the construction paraphernalia in the corner of the kitchen. “I suppose they are types of tools, aren’t they?”
He set his stuff down and started putting on his shoes while I searched for a vase for the rose. I had to go to the hall bathroom to get some water because the kitchen sink was still disconnected. He followed me, coming to stand close to me in the small bathroom to help take off the tight cello wrap. He whipped out a tiny Swiss army knife and trimmed of the end of the rose after I’d removed the water-filled stem pick. He had clearly gone to a florist and not just a grocery store to pick out this rose. And how many guys knew how important it was to trim a rose from water to water so an air bubble didn’t travel up the stem? Who taught him that? My mother had taught me. Roses had been her favorite flower… I was not going to think about my mother now.
The rose was in its vase and Josh still stood close to me. He was looking in the mirror at us and smiling. He stood at least a foot taller, especially with me in flats. I could easily lean my head against his shoulder, but I didn’t. I watched him inhale quietly and deeply. Was he smelling me?
“Fate is good to me,” he sighed.
Blushing, I looked away from the couple in the mirror. “That’s only if you believe in Fate.”
I stepped apart from him so that I might escape the cramped bathroom.
Josh made room for me. “You have to believe in something,” he said following me to the living room. I had every intention of putting the rose beside my bed later tonight but for now I set it on the mantel. I paused there, resting my hands on the mantel. Belief. It was too soon to talk about the damaging effects of belief. And I’d already pushed thoughts of my mother aside. I stared at the pure elegance of the rose.
“It’s so pretty,” I said.
“Just like you.”
He took another step closer to me, and I had the distinct feeling he wanted to wrap his arm around me, give me a hug or something, but I wasn’t quite
I knew beach-girl was just a version of myself I was aspiring to be, but I hadn’t thought being flirty was in my vocabulary. Apparently, Josh was already bringing out new elements of myself.
I glanced out the window again and saw Josh grabbing something from his saddlebags before he disappeared behind the back of the house. I couldn’t get a good look at what he was wearing. I flipped my hair one last time and grabbed my clutch. I was going on a date! I winked at beach-girl and then headed downstairs to open the door.
Josh was at the kitchen door rather than the front.
“I was just making sure that everything was locked up good and tight for the weekend,” he said by way of explanation. Then he gazed at me, from the top of my curled hair to the tips of my painted toenails. “You look beautiful, Heather…”
I stared right back at him. At his piercing blue eyes, his hair slicked back on the sides, as if wet, except for a few strands falling rebelliously over his forehead. Oh my, he looked hot. He wore his leather jacket over a white linen shirt—the first two buttons undone—tucked into well-fitting jeans that were neither faded nor ripped, a black leather belt, and … socks without shoes? His hotness factor dipped until I saw his biker boots on the stoop and a plastic bag in the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet.
He gave the bag a shake. “I brought nicer shoes to wear out to dinner. “
“Oh.” I opened the door wider so he could come in.
Before he pulled said shoes from the bag, he withdrew a cellophane-sleeved rose and handed it to me. It was an unusual peach color, the exact shade of the tank top I was wearing. He winked and said, “Fate strikes again?”
I smiled but shook my head and corrected him in my best Miranda interpretation. “Coincidence.”
He shrugged and smiled, too. “If you say so. Hey, do you mind if I leave my helmet and boots here?”
I looked around at the construction paraphernalia in the corner of the kitchen. “I suppose they are types of tools, aren’t they?”
He set his stuff down and started putting on his shoes while I searched for a vase for the rose. I had to go to the hall bathroom to get some water because the kitchen sink was still disconnected. He followed me, coming to stand close to me in the small bathroom to help take off the tight cello wrap. He whipped out a tiny Swiss army knife and trimmed of the end of the rose after I’d removed the water-filled stem pick. He had clearly gone to a florist and not just a grocery store to pick out this rose. And how many guys knew how important it was to trim a rose from water to water so an air bubble didn’t travel up the stem? Who taught him that? My mother had taught me. Roses had been her favorite flower… I was not going to think about my mother now.
The rose was in its vase and Josh still stood close to me. He was looking in the mirror at us and smiling. He stood at least a foot taller, especially with me in flats. I could easily lean my head against his shoulder, but I didn’t. I watched him inhale quietly and deeply. Was he smelling me?
“Fate is good to me,” he sighed.
Blushing, I looked away from the couple in the mirror. “That’s only if you believe in Fate.”
I stepped apart from him so that I might escape the cramped bathroom.
Josh made room for me. “You have to believe in something,” he said following me to the living room. I had every intention of putting the rose beside my bed later tonight but for now I set it on the mantel. I paused there, resting my hands on the mantel. Belief. It was too soon to talk about the damaging effects of belief. And I’d already pushed thoughts of my mother aside. I stared at the pure elegance of the rose.
“It’s so pretty,” I said.
“Just like you.”
He took another step closer to me, and I had the distinct feeling he wanted to wrap his arm around me, give me a hug or something, but I wasn’t quite
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