Page 88 of Your Place or Mine

I cleared my throat as she stood, wiping her palms on her thighs.

“You hungry?”

She blinked at me. “Now?”

I nodded toward the sun, which was starting to dip just low enough that the garden was falling into that golden-hour kind of glow.

“It’s almost dinner time. I was gonna grab something. Figured I could, uh, buy you a plate of food. Since you haven’t stopped moving since dawn.”

She tilted her head. “Is that your version of asking me to dinner?”

“It’s food,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “No speeches. No pressure.”

Her lips quirked, amused. “You’re aware there’s moss in my hair, and it looks like I lost a fight with a compost bin, right?”

I shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”

“You’ve kissed worse?”

That stopped me short. Heat crawled up my neck. “Didn’t say that.”

She laughed, brushing her hair behind her ears, missing the moss, and tucked her hands in her hoodie pocket. “I should probably shower.”

“You can. Or not.”

She raised a brow. “Wow. Irresistible pitch.”

I ran a hand down my face. “You want the truth?”

She waited.

I sighed. “You’ve got dirt on your cheek, moss in your hair, and you’re wearing that sweatshirt two sizes too big. And I still think you’re the most distracting thing I’ve seen in my life. So yeah. I’m asking you to dinner. Or at least to eat food with me and pretend like I didn’t screw things up completely a few days ago.”

Something flickered across her face, something soft.

For a second, I thought she was going to say no.

And I wouldn’t have blamed her.

But then she nodded once. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll go to dinner with you.”

The relief that washed through me was instant and stupidly strong.

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to hide the dumb smile tugging at my mouth. “Cool.”

“Cool,” she echoed, then smirked. “But I’m showering first. I draw the line at dinner with mulch in my bra.”

I nearly choked. “Noted.”

She walked past me, brushing dirt off her jeans as she went, and just before she reached the stairs, she paused and looked over her shoulder.

“There’s hope for you yet, Callum Benedict.”

I didn’t say anything.

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