Page 51 of Still Yours
Stone shuts my door, and it latches almost silently. I stare at the buttons on the handle in wonder as he gets in his side and flicks the car on—literallyflicks—on his phone’s screen.
“Good lord, are you about to time travel me?”
Stone’s perfect white teeth flash through the stubble he’s grown out. “She’s almost as gorgeous and lovely as you. Wait until you hear her purr.”
“Enough with the compliments. Please.”
The strangled tone to my voice shuts down the conversation. Just like I wanted, but I feel hollowed out because of it.
“I was just trying to be nice,” he says while pulling up the rear-facing camera and reversing out of the drive.
“I don’t want you to be nice. I don’t want to like you again.”
The truth spills out before I can bite it back, and I press against the cool leather seat as stiff as a piece of torn cardboard.
“Fair enough.” He spins the wheel and as he promised, the car turns soundlessly. “You’ve been looking forward to this night for months. I won’t ruin it for you.”
I stare at his profile with cautious gratitude. “Thank you.”
He gives a single nod. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m trying not to be a dick. Especially to you.”
My cheeks grow hotter. I squirm in my seat. I thought I wanted a pliable, respectful Stone, but all he’s doing is casually swinging a pickax at the bricks I’ve built around myself since he left. It makes me wonder who is worse—nice guy Stone or selfish, careless Stone Williams. Either can charm their way out of anything.
Thankfully, the drive into Main Street isn’t long. The sun hasn’t set and a warm, golden glow casts its rays across the red-brick lined tree wells and black, old-style lanterns with banners showcasing a happy turkey hanging from them. The trees lining the strip have changed from lush green to burned orange, translucent yellows and scarlet reds, casting a painting across the two-lane road.
Stone parallel parks with one-armed ease. I refuse to be taken by that surprisingly sexy ability and step out onto the sidewalk before he can round the car and charmingly pull my door open again.
We are not on a date.
With the dumb luck of a rich person, Stone found a spot two cars down from the restaurant and we talk to the front door without speaking.
I glance over at him. He’s busy studying the restaurant’s facade with a pointed squint, as if he’s assessing its worth, but I know him better than that.
His shoulders are practically to his ears and he folds his arms like he’s the bouncerC’est Troisnever knew it wanted.
Stone isnervous.
It’s not often Stone wanders into areas where he’s unknown or for purposes other than being told to show up, smile, and charm the wallets off everyone in the room. This is a cooking class, a place he has no reason to be at, no desire to learn, and no freaking idea how to act.
For the first time in a long while, Stone is baffled.
I bite back a smile as I open the door and gesture him inside. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”
“I’m not worried,” Stone says unconvincingly, then grabs the edge of the door above my head, ushering me in first. “After you.”
“Uh-huh.” And then I actuallywinkat him in jest before going inside, my heart feeling light as air.
What iswrongwith me? I’m supposed to despise this man. A man who atones for the town by doing grunt ranch work, then spends all day with his sick mom, then attends cooking classes he’ll all but fall asleep in so I can stay enrolled in the class…
Shaking myself out of it, I use stronger strides to get to the hostess stand, where a gorgeous natural blonde dressed in a tight black cocktail dress waits with a pen and headset.
“Can I help you?” she asks after her gaze arcs from my head down to my toes. Then it moves sideways and snags—nay,glues—onto Stone.
“Omigod, you’re Stone Williams.Hi,” she says. “I’m Amy.”
“Hello, Amy.” Stone angles his head and perfects his relaxed, yet gracious energy with a tight-lipped smile.
I watch him, bewitched and just as enchanted by his ability to what I can honestly call a shapeshift.
