Page 57 of Hello Handsome
Why did my body react so strongly to him still? Was it just the memory of how he made me feel?
Annoyed at myself, I shook the thought. “What design do you like?”
He looked at me like he was confused. “I guess a queen?”
I snickered, bending over in my seat. “Not size, the style. Are you a fan of industrial? Farmhouse? Mid-century modern?”
His lips pressed together as he mulled it over, and the view out his window changed from city outskirts to countryside. “I think I’ll know it when I see it.” His eyes lingered on me a moment longer before turning to the road.
“Decisive, I like it,” I teased with a smile. “Since you don’t want to admit you don’t know home design styles.”
“Nope. Not admitting that.” He returned my smile with a grin of his own. For the rest of the ride, we caught up on all that we missed. It felt like no time or distance had passed between us—we just picked up right where we left off. And when we got to the store, we walked in together, talking about Enzo’s adventures in Hawaii.
A glance around the store showed it wasn’t as big as some of the mega-stores in Dallas that you practically needed a golfcart to get around, but there were several sections for each area of the house.
“There’s the bedroom sign,” I said, pointing to one hanging overhead.
“Guess we should go that way,” he replied. As we walked over the vinyl path between different styles of couches, his scuffed cowboy boots formed a steady beat. His Wrangler jeans fit him perfectly, and I could see his strong shoulders even through the sweater he wore.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered what he thought of me in my sweater tunic and leggings with wide-calf boots. If he lay awake at night picturing my body like I did his.
We reached the bedroom section, and there was a gaudy bed in the corner encrusted with mirror-like jewels. There was even a big mirror on the headboard. “This is the one,” I said, elbowing his side and pointing at it.
His cheeks instantly heated, and he coughed. “That’s not my style.”
I giggled at his embarrassment.
Steering me away, he said, “What about this?” He gestured to a plain, boxy-looking bed set with espresso finish.
I raised my eyebrows at him, surprised the guy with a house surrounded by sunflowers would want something so plain. “Thisis what you want to look at for the next twenty years?”
“Ideally, my eyes would be closed,” he retorted.
I bumped my shoulder against his. “Let’s get a few better–I mean, other–options.”
We walked together through the section until he settled on a rustic white bedroom set with a bed frame that had extra storage in the bottom. Practical and beautiful. Plus, it would contrast the wood floors perfectly.
Gray signed a check for the eager salesperson and then drove his truck around the backside of the store for them to load it up. The cowboy in him wouldn’t let the workers load it on their own. He got out to help them while I listened to music in the truck.
Once it was secured with straps, we were off, heading back to Cottonwood Falls. “Do you have time for dinner?” Gray offered. The hope in his voice made me want to cancel my date and pretend Dallas didn’t happen. But I was trying to move forward, I reminded myself. So I said, “I think I need to get back and get dressed in something nice.”
As we pulled to a stop sign, he turned my way, letting his eyes travel over my body. Goosebumps rose on my skin. “You look beautiful to me.”
Butterflies danced in the face of my better judgment. “Thank you.”
As he pulled onto the road, Gray said, “So this date tonight...”
I glanced at him, seeing the golden countryside blurring out the window behind him. Any attempt to read his feelings wasfutile. Was he curious? Jealous? Just trying to pass the time? For how well I knew him, I still couldn’t tell. “What about my date?” I finally asked.
He shifted in his seat, sipping some tea we grabbed at a gas station on the way. “Who’s the guy?”
I bit my bottom lip, not sure how much I should say. “Are we really talking about this?”
“We’re friends, or at least, I’d like to be. Friends talk about this stuff, right?” His voice was nonchalant. Almost too much so.
“You’re not wrong…” I leaned against the door, feeling its steady vibration. And Gray waited silently for me to speak. “His name’s Jameson. He’s from Tyler,” I finally said, referencing a town on the other side of Roderdale.
“Ah,” Gray said, and silence filled the cab for a moment. His throat moved with his swallow. “He’s a good guy?”
