Page 18 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
“He’s six foot three,” I say before sipping my café au lait. “I assumed he’d be carrying something impressive. But to feel it...”
“Damn.”
We pause and sip our drinks.
“You said he was in a towel, right? How did he look? Give me details.”
I lean against the headrest and groan. “So good, Naomi. Like, I guess I just assumed he’d look at least a tad bit flawed in real life. There’s stuff like flattering lighting on a TV set and airbrushing on photo shoots to make celebrities look otherworldly attractive. But his body is flawless. He looks just as beautiful in person as he does on camera, like a cross between a Greek god and an Olympic swimmer.”
A choking sound emanates from Naomi’s end of the line.
“He has eight ab muscles, Naomi.Eight.I have never seen a washboard stomach with eight abdominal muscles in person in my entire life. Until him.”
“Wow,” she says through a sigh.
“How do I move on from this? I sputtered an apology once it registered what I’d done, but I know for sure that didn’t do any good. He just ran off to his bedroom.” I let out another groan. “God, he’s probably so upset and freaked-out by me right now. I pretty much mauled him.”
“Come on. I’m sure he doesn’t feel that way at all. He probably understood that it was a mistake.”
I shake my head, doubting the certainty of her tone.
“There’s no magic way to fix this,” she says. “You know that, right?”
I tug at my messy bun before yanking out my hair tie. “I know.”
“You just gotta talk to him. Tell him that you’re sorry and that you want to figure out a way to move on from it.”
“I’m gonna pass out from humiliation.”
I check the time and see that we’re officially one hour past the planned starting time for the renovation because of the surprise gropefest.
“Get some food on your way home like nothing’s weird and you just ran out to get some breakfast. Like doughnuts. Doughnuts make every situation better.”
I scoff. “Do they?”
“Of course they do. Everyone loves fried dough and sugar.”
I start the car and drive toward a doughnut shop a couple miles away. “I should go. Thanks for talking me through this, Naomi. You’re the best.”
“Oh, it was my pleasure. As a matter of fact, feel free to call me anytime with similar problems and I’d be happy to give you my complete attention. Morning, afternoon, night...”
“God, Naomi, I get it! But seriously, I know I already said this, but I’m saying it again because that’s how important this is—you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone about Lewis staying with me, okay? He wants to keep his whereabouts private, and he’s doing me a massive favor by taking over this renovation for free while he’s hiding out. I don’t want to betray his trust. Or his privacy.”
“I swear, Harper. I won’t tell a soul.”
The conviction in my cousin’s tone eases the ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. She’s never once broken a promise to me, and I know she’ll keep this secret forever.
We say goodbye, and I park in front of a doughnut shop, staring up at the neon sign that reads Dimple’s Doughnuts in neon-pink cursive. I immediately think of that sexy-as-hell dimple in Lewis’s right cheek and get flustered all over again.
I take a breath. “I hope this doughnut thing works.”
Fifteen minutes later, I walk into the house, hot-pink box of freshly fried doughnuts cradled in my arm. Lewis is studying his laptop screen at the kitchen island, and I freeze in place.
What do I say? “Hello”? Or “Good morning”? Or “Sorry I accidentally fondled your genitals! Want a raspberry-filled doughnut”?
But then he does something I don’t expect. When he looks up and sees me, he smiles.
“Hey.”
