Page 38 of Lessons in Heartbreak

“Observant, aren’t you?”

The dimple in his cheek flashed when he grinned; the fact that I’d even noticed made me astronomically pissy. “I need to eat something. Don’t go through my underwear drawer, okay?”

“No promises,” he called out. “Which drawer is that, just so I know?”

“Second one down. Don’t open it,” I warned.

The raspberry muffin was delicious, and I shoved half of it in my mouth while I wandered into the kitchen to boil some water for my single cup of tea in the morning.

“I got you a coffee.” His voice traveled down the hallway as I filled the kettle.

“I saw that, thank you. But, um, I don’t drink coffee. I try to limit my caffeine intake, so I usually just have a cup of tea.”

“You hardly ever drink, you go to bed early. Walk two miles a day. Don’t drink coffee. Men are off the table. Does Ruby Tate have any vices? Oh, hang on, I just figured it out.” His frame filled the doorway, arms full of cardigans. “You have seventeen cardigans in varying shades of white and black. Seventeen!”

I exhaled slowly through puffed-out cheeks. “What’s wrong with that? I know what I like to wear.”

“You have one in blue. You were wearing it the other day when I was at the library.”

Since I was leaning over to make sure the flames were at the right height on the burner, he couldn’t see me grimace. “I was.”

“Do you feel good when you wear it?”

With a tight jaw, I nodded.

“So why don’t you own more clothes like that?”

Crossing my arms tight across my chest, I finally whirled to face him. “Because when I purchase clothes, it’s utilitarian. Will they cover my body? Will they keep me warm in a freezing-cold library? I’m literally never thinking about the opposite sex when I go shopping.”

Griffin pursed his lips slightly, studying me from head to toe. My hand gripped the eggplant-purple cardigan, just to make sure he didn’t get an accidental glimpse of nipple underneath my shirt.

Note to self: sleep in a sports bra while Griffin is in town.

“I think I’ve got this figured out,” he said.

“Have you?”

Despite my dry tone, he nodded. “Now, while that water’s heating, come show me your three favorite outfits. Not to feel sexy or attract attention, but your favorites for when you want to dress nicely.”

Sighing heavily, I followed him down the hallway, acutely aware that he filled so much space in my tiny little house. My room felt like it had shrunk down by half.

Instead of dwelling on that, or how it felt having him loom behind me while I studied my closet (honestly, it was obnoxious how much smaller I was than him), I gave my closet a cursory scan, then picked the first three things that came to mind.

A black sheath dress I’d had for the better part of a decade—my go-to for funerals or fancier events. I’d been known to wear it to weddings too.

A black-and-white tweed pencil skirt that I paired with different blouses.

And the light-blue set he’d seen me in.

Griffin did his best to hang the cardigans back in place, and afterward, he turned to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer.

“Hey.”

He whistled. “This was not purchased to be utilitarian.” Dangling on his finger was the single nicest piece of lingerie I owned. The bra was a delicate lace design in a deep, rich blue color, and it came with a pair of matching high-cut bikini panties.

I snatched it out of his hand. “It was a gift. I’ve never actually worn it.” His eyes stayed locked on the bra in my hand, and I pushed past him to shove it back in the drawer.

“Now that’s a fucking shame. Who gave it to you?”

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