Page 93 of Crazy Thing

I watch as he pulls out his phone and puts it on ‘do not disturb’ mode. At five o’clock on a Monday evening. I must be in an alternate universe.

His finger loops around the strap of my camisole and he drags me closer for a kiss. “Hmm. Does that mean I get to take you on a date tonight?”

“A date?”

Darius and I haven’t spent more than a few minutes apart since I showed up at his home for the gala on Friday evening.

We spent the entire weekend together. We woke up in my bus parked in his front yard on Saturday before going to my shop in Honey Hill. When I drove him back home last night, he tried to lure me into his house with promises of hot tea, a fireplace and a warm, cozy bed. After I turned down his offer, he pinned me down on the sofa-bed in my bus and made me come over and over until we both passed out, dead asleep. That’s how I ended up riding in to work with him this morning.

It’s Monday evening and I was starting to feel like our fun weekend romp had run its course. But now here he is, asking me onanotherdate?!

Wait—am I ‘dating’ Darius Brighton? I…I think I am.

“There’s this seafood restaurant Nolan keeps going on and on about—Matilda’s,” he’s saying now with a smile on his face. “Maybe we could give it a try.”

Oh my god—I’mdatingDarius Brighton!

I do my best to play it cool. I scrunch up my nose at him. “Aren’t you sick of eating out?” I don’t think I’ve seen this man eat a home-cooked meal once since I’ve been working here.

He’s wearing a wolfish grin when he rises out of his seat, rounding his desk and grabbing my waist. “Well, I’ll say this—I’ll never be sick of eatingyouout.” He hoists me onto his desk, diving down to nibble at my neck.

“Darius!” I shriek, throwing my head back in laughter. “I’m serious. You need a home-cooked meal.”

“That sounds like something my sister would say.” He grumbles. “Every week she puts one of her Karli’s Kitchen meal prep boxes in my fridge. Like she actually expects me to cook it or something. As if I have the time. It usually just sits there until the ingredients start going bad and my housekeeper throws the whole thing out.”

“Well, your sister is right,” I insist. “Your body needs something fresh and nutritious. How about I cook you dinner?”

“Sounds good but—shoot!—I’m fresh out of buckwheat.” I feel the rumble of his muffled laughter as his lips travel across my clavicle.

I roll my eyes. “You are? Such a shame.” Bracing him by the shoulders, I gently push him back. “Good thing I know the perfect place where we can buy some.”

That’s how Darius and I end up weaving and wandering through the crammed booths of the Starlight Falls farmer’s market at 5:11 on a Mondayevening. The sun is still out but there’s that end-of-September chill in the air. The market is not very crowded. In fact, most of the vendors have started packing up for the night.

It takes me a whole lot of self-control to walk right past the displays of handmade jewelry and local artwork but Darius and I are on a mission. We have to get the provisions we need before the merchants close up for the night.

As we’re passing by the local hatmaker’s booth, my feet stutter and my eyes pause on a cute sunhat that’s on display. Before I can resume my speed-walk toward the fruit and vegetable booths, Darius grabs my hand and forces my footsteps to halt.

“Did something catch your eye?” he asks me.

“Oh, nothing in particular. This booth just always has really cool stuff,” I say, even as my gaze volleys back to the sunhat.

“This one feels like you.” He strolls right over to the exact hat that stole my attention. He lifts it off the hook where it’s displayed and inspects it. It’s suede with a floppy brim and it’s decorated with dark brown tassels.

I run a fingertip along the brim and smile at him. “It does feel like me.” I try to take the hat from him and return it to the display. “But we’ve got to get to the vegetable stand before—”

“There’s no rush.”

“But what about—?”

“We’re going to be very busy later on in the week. Right now, there’s no rush, Fairy Girl. Let’s enjoy this.” Darius gently settles the hat over my head.

He turns me to face the small mirror hanging on the booth’s back wall. And I’m confronted by the hot red blush that’s burning up my cheeks.

“That one looks great on you.” The hatmaker drapes his measuring tape around his neck and offers us a smile.

“I agree. What do you think?” Darius whispers by my ear, his strong hands tenderly massaging my shoulders before his arms wrap around my midriff.

His touch is so gentle, yet so firm. I just want to melt into him, right here in the middle of this farmer’s market.

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