Page 70 of Wallflower
“Absolutely.”
I jump from the bed and hurry to my room with Chord’s light, amused chuckle following me down the hallway.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re driving toward the main street of Aster Springs with Chord behind the wheel of his truck. I’ve got butterflies in my stomach, and I stick my hands between my knees to stop my legs bouncing, but there’s not much I can do about the smiling.
I haven’t felt this way in years—maybe ever. My body buzzes with excitement and anticipation. This is Chord’s hometown, and spending a day together like this feels a lot like getting a glimpse into his past—and his heart.
It only takes ten minutes driving through wine country to reach the town proper, marked by a sign that saysAster Springs: Population 1209. We pass The Slippery Tipple, closed and quiet, on the right before Chord pulls into an empty space outside a bustling little cafe on the left. It’s got cute red and white striped awnings out front, the menu painted on a sidewalk signboard, and a line out the door, so we join the queue for takeout French pastries and sweet, milky coffees.
It doesn’t take long for the people around us to notice that Chord Davenport is here, but when they do, the whispering takes off like wildfire. Chord ignores the murmuring and long, obvious looks, but he holds my hand like he knows I need reassurance. I hang on tight, practically glued to his side, as we approach the counter.
Chord pulls out his wallet and nods to the woman at the register. “Morning, Sophie.”
Sophie’s hair is more gray than dark, and the deep lines around her eyes and mouth hint at a life spent laughing. “Bonjour, Chord,” she says with a warm smile and a gorgeous French accent. “It has been too long since I saw you last.”
“My fault,” he agrees easily. “But I missed you.”
Sophie laughs. “You missed mykouign-amann.” She retrieves a paper bag from under the counter and uses a pair of tongs to transfer a pastry before she glances at me. “Would you like one also, or perhaps you want to try something else?”
I scan the glass case with shelf upon shelf of mouthwatering pastries, and though I linger a little longer on a plate of sugar-coatedbeignets, everything looks so good that I can’t decide. “I’ll have the same,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Plus twocafe au laits,please, Sophie,” Chord adds. “And half a dozenbeignets.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but he just bites back a smile and gives me a wink.
We return to the car with our simple breakfast, the hushed commentary of other patrons chasing us out the door.
“That wasn’t too bad, was it?” Chord asks. His tone is light, but his dark brows are pinched.
I don’t mean to hesitate. Chord warned me that he came with a spotlight, and I meant it when I said I could stand in it too if he was by my side, but I’ve never liked the attention. I think about my new social media followers and how the boost to my numbers makes me equal parts hopeful and terrified. It’s my instinct to hide, but I don’t want that to always be the case. I drink in the smooth, straight lines of Chord’s gorgeous face and remind myself how lucky I am to be here right now.
I don’t want to be scared all my life.
I take his hand and kiss the back of it. “I’m having French doughnuts for breakfast, so I’d say this date is off to the perfect start.”
The relief on his face warms my heart, and the day only gets better. We leave the main thoroughfare of Aster Springs and drive a little way out to a small local art gallery. We walk out with an abstract canvas I adored at first sight, then stop at the village market for lunch supplies.
Chord drives us to a nearby park with stunning historic ruins and enchanting tumbled-down stone walls overrun with flowering vines. He retrieves a soft plaid blanket from his truck, and we find a shady spot looking out over the valley to share our generous haul of local produce—olives and bread, heirloom tomatoes, sweet and juicy stone fruits—expertly matched with a dry white wine that Chord picked himself. We’ve got no glasses, so we trade sips straight from the bottle, and that somehow makes the whole thing more romantic.
When we’re done, I recline on the blanket and stare up at the sunlight filtering through the leaves above. Chord stretches out beside me, propped up on his elbow and watching me with soft blue eyes and a gentle tilt to his mouth.
“What?” I ask, swiping at my face to remove any crumbs that might be stuck to my skin. “What are you looking at?”
“Just how flawless you are,” he murmurs.
My cheeks warm, and Chord grins as he slips his hand behind my neck and leans down to kiss me.
“I’ve had the best day,” I murmur. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies, “but it’s not over yet.”
My heart skips. “It’s not?”
“Nope.” Chord sweeps a strand of hair from my face, dragging it from my neck where my hairline has grown damp from the heat of the day. “I’ve done my duty as a good Aster Springs boy and shown you all the tourist traps, but there’s one more place I’d like you to see—somewhere only the locals know, so you have to promise to keep it a secret.”
I sit up and cross my fluttering heart. “I promise.”
Chord gives me a megawatt grin that makes my pulse race faster. “Let’s go.”
