Page 13 of Wish You Would

“Someone is going to throw paint on you,” Daisy laughs, moving to stand behind me so she can see my reflection. “That’s hardcore. Even for you.”

“You can relax, it’s fake.”

“Thank god. I didn’t want to have to call PETA on you.”

I ignore her, turning from side-to-side as I admire the coat. I’m imagining it with a short black dress, heels, my hair pulled back into a slick bun.

“If only you had a man who you could wear it for,” Daisy teases. “Nothing on underneath.” She smirks mischievously. “It would be so hot. Okay, I changed my mind. You need the jacket.”

“The whole store can hear you, Dais,” I laugh, slipping off the jacket and sliding it back onto the hanger. I reluctantly return it to the rack, then wander over to the home goods section, where I spot some frames and a pair of throw pillows that would look perfect on Holden’s couch. I pick up a pillow to check the price.

“Those are pretty,” Daisy says with an approving nod. “For your new place?”

“I was thinking for Holden’s. The place feels like a prison. I’ve never seen such an empty space in my life.”

Daisy’s eyebrows pinch together. “I get that you want to make Holden’s house feel homier, but something tells me florals and pastels aren’t his style.”

I shrug. “He’ll get used to it.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see Daisy’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. She’s right, of course. Holden will probably faint when he sees these pillows propped against his dull, black couch. But they’ll liven up the place, make his house feel more like a home. Besides, maybe he’ll appreciate the effort. It bothers me when someone doesn’t like me, and I can’t quite shake the feeling that Holden falls into that category. Maybe this will help me win him over. I grab a blanket, a table lamp, and a candle for his empty coffee table and bring it all to the checkout. On my way home I’ll pick up some flowers.

“I wish I was a fly on the wall when he sees all this stuff tonight,” Daisy says, shaking her head as I tap my debit card against the machine. “I’m sure Holden is going tolovewhat you do with his place.”

“Are you gaslighting me right now?” I tilt my head to one side, eyeing Daisy.

“Never.” She smirks at me, her eyes sparkling.

“Daisy, I changed my mind,” I say suddenly, dropping my shopping bag to the floor at her feet. “I’m getting the fur.”

“I knew you would,” she calls after me as I head back to the racks to grab it. “You should try it out on Holden.”

That might be the best idea my girl Daisy has ever had.

I’ma ball of nerves when I hear Holden walk through the door after work. I’m sitting on the couch reading a romance book, wearing a pair of shorts and a thrifted T-shirt I’ve cut to fall off one shoulder when he steps into the living room, a takeout bag in his hand.

I dog-ear my page and put the book down on the coffee table, taking in Holden. God, he’s beautiful. And so effortlessly sexy. He does look a little tired, probably from sleeping on a couch that is way too small for a guy his size, but that doesn’t stop my heart from thundering in my chest.

“Hi.” His green eyes find mine as the corner of his mouth tips up in a small smile.

My pulse rate skips.

But his smile is quickly replaced by a frown as his eyes move around the living room, taking in the décor changes—improvements—that I made this afternoon. That frown. It shouldn’t be so sexy.

I keep my eyes on him, waiting for his reaction. He’s wearing the same crisp white button-down and gray dress pants he had on when he left this morning, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up his forearms.

Never in my life have I noticed a man’s forearms. Until now. Smooth bronze skin with a light dusting of arm hair, his muscles tight and sinewy.

“What happened to my house?” His voice is gravelly, with an edge to it.

“Do you like it? I went shopping with Daisy.”

I watch his eyes track the room again. The throw pillows on the couch. The picture frames on his bookshelf—still empty, I figured I’d let him pick the photos—next to the cactus and the fern, the humungous three-wick candle onthe center of the coffee table. My personal favorite is the chunky, knit yellow blanket draped over the arm of his couch.

“You’d better be able to return this stuff. I hope you didn’t take the tags off.”

He puts the bag of takeout on the coffee table, then turns to me, looking annoyed. His eyes track down the length of me before jerking away to the living room again.

A flash of heat covers my skin. I like his eyes on me. Something about the way he looks at me makes me feel appreciated. Admired. It’s been a long time since I’ve been looked at that way.

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