Page 33 of I Think They Love You

He yanks his coat closed. The cold tints Braylon’s cheeks pink. Or maybe that’s the embarrassment.

“Thanks for tonight,” Denz says. “For—”

“Suffering through Coldplay?”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Nails on a chalkboard. Stepping on a cat’s tail. Country music. All things that sound better than your singing.”

Denz’s lips part, ready to snap, when a crooked grin slides the left side of Braylon’s mouth up. A snort shocks Denz. He shakes his head.

“Thanks for that too.”

“So,” Braylon says after a beat of silence, “care to explain what all of that was about?”

Denz winces at the cloudless sky. He doesn’t want to discuss it, but he owes Braylon. Big. Sighing, he launches into the full story. Everything from the retirement announcement to the aunties to Kami’s cutting words and nearly kicking down his dad’s office door.

Once Denz finishes, Braylon says, “Hmm. Seems like quite the dramatic reaction to what your family said.”

“Gee, thanks. Always nice to have you validate my stupid ideas.”

“You’re welcome.” Another tiny smile from Braylon.

Denz lets out a smoky breath. “Sorry you had to deal with my dad’s—you know.”

“Threats of bodily harm if ever I hurt you again?”

“More or less.”

“I had my own agenda.”

“About that,” Denz says. “You don’t have to come to the Valentine’s gala. The mayor’s close with my family. I’ll get you a one-on-one. No need to keep lying to save my ass.”

He’s not sure how he’ll fix this shitstorm now. If his dad doesn’t see Braylon again, he’ll know Denz was lying. The entire family will know. But he can’t force Braylon to continue pretending. Not without a good reason.

He yanks out his phone. “Let me just—”

“I’ll be there,” Braylon interrupts.

“You’ll… what?”

“The gala. I’m coming.”

“But my family.” Denz shakes his head. “They’ll have questions. A lot. If you think my dad’s bad, wait until you meet my aunties.”

Braylon shrugs. “I’m not worried.”

Denz’s eyes narrow. “Is this because you don’t believe I’ll get you a meeting with Mayor Reynolds?” It’s not like he’s the one who ghosted Braylon. Who moved to another country. If anyone should have trust issues, it should be him.

The restaurant’s door swings open. A handsy couple stumbles out to their idling Bentley. The driver shuts the door before pulling away from the curb.

“I trust you,” Braylon says.

Denz ignores the small spark of warmth in his chest. It’s his body’s natural reaction to the cold. Not those three words.

“I still want to be there,” Braylon clarifies.

“Why?”

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