Page 34 of Callow

This was a lot nicer, I had to admit.

“Don’t you love the fall?” I asked as leaves blew across the sidewalk in front of us. “Makes me want to make apple cider donuts.”

“You bake?” he asked.

“Kind of goes with the mom territory,” I said, shrugging. “I had to learn to make Christmas cookies. I can’t take a lot ofcredit for the apple cider donuts, though. I buy a mix I just have to add cider to, roll out, cut, and fry.”

“Any chance you’d save me a few when you do?” he asked, making me want to go home and immediately place an order for more of the mix.

“I think I could manage that,” I said, wondering if my tone sounded as flirty to him as it did to me as I turned with my back to my car to give him a little smile.

It’d been so long since I’d even attempted to flirt that I honestly could have been laying it on way too thick or comically thin for all I knew.

“Yeah?” he asked, something smooth and sexy in his dark eyes as he leaned closer.

Butterflies took flight through my belly as my heartbeat tripped over itself.

Because he wasdefinitelyflirting back.

“You know,” he said, reaching up to brush my hair behind my ear, making a shiver slide down my spine, “I’m really glad you invited me here tonight,” he said.

I realized too late that he was leaning closer, that his gaze was on my lips.

Because automatically, my stupid mouth spoke what was on my mind.

“Wait… what?”

That was all it took for Callow to straighten again. “Hm?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I’m glad you invited me here,” he said, brows furrowing.

“But… I didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I didn’t invite you here. I was supposed to be meeting Britney, but she canceled on me. This is our weekly date thing,” I said, waving back toward She’s Bean Around.

“Babe, you texted me,” he said, looking baffled.

“No, I didn’t,” I said, shaking my head.

I mean, I’d thought about it no fewer than a thousand times. But I’d never had the balls to do it.

Callow reached into his pocket, bringing out his phone, finding what he was looking for, then turning the screen toward me.

And there it was.

A text from my phone.

Asking him to meet me.

For a stomach-clenching moment, I worried I might have texted him when I’d woken up from one of my setting-the-sheets-on-fire dreams when I hadn’t been awake enough to remember what I’d done.

But I had a feeling if I’d texted him then that it would have been a lot less tame than asking him on a coffee date.

Confused, I dug my own phone out of my purse, going to my messages, finding Callow, and seeing no message inviting him anywhere.

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