Page 44 of What Hurts Us

That did it.

Her lips parted, and her eyes dropped to my mouth. “That was a mistake.” She was breathless. Just the threat of another kiss like the one we had already shared had her aroused.

“Liar.” I grazed my thumb across the peak of her cheekbone. “But you can pretend like it’s the truth.” I grabbed the keys from her hand, locked the door behind me, and walked out to the car.

The two-syllabled ‘thank you’ was the only thing I got from Layla before twenty minutes of complete silence as we drove through rolling meadows to the Chapel Hill neighborhood her parents called home.

Layla pointed me in the direction of the narrow strip of driveway that was shrouded by neatly trimmed shrubs. Purple chrysanthemums decorated the base of the mailbox.

I parked behind the row of cars and reached into the backseat. Layla had the desserts she had picked up in a box on her lap, but I slipped out of the house and hit up the farmer’s market for my own gift.

I grabbed the brown paper bag and bouquet I had hidden back there as Layla unbuckled her seatbelt. “What’s that?” she asked.

I slammed the door shut. “Gift for your parents.”

Layla raised a curious eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because it’s customary for theKhastegarithat the groom will bring flowers to the potential bride’s family.” I shifted the bouquet of sunflowers in my arm and pinched the handle of the gift bag with my fingers so that I could keep my hand on Layla’s back as we walked to the door.

After our kiss last night, I’d stayed in my room, scouring Google until Layla turned in for the evening and her side of the hallway went quiet.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said under her breath as we ascended the brick steps leading up to the door.

“But I did.”

“Cal—”

“I’m not looking for brownie points or extra credit, honey,” I said quickly. “It’s the right thing to do, so I did it.”

“You’re slacking on your terms of endearment. You already used ‘honey’,” she said.

I knew that. When it slipped out of my mouth, something about the word fit her. She was sweet. Warm. Golden. Maybe a little healing. The first time I called her ‘honey’ was pure chance. The second time I called her that was intentional.

The front door swung open, and a man about Layla’s age braced his arms in the doorframe. “Run.”

Layla snickered. “Pretty sure they’d chase us down.”

He looked me up and down as I slid my hand down to Layla’s lower back. “So,” he clipped. “It’s true?”

Layla looked up at me. “It’s true.”

He looked at me. “Either this guy has balls of fucking stone, or you haven’t filled him in on what it’s like whenMamanandKhaleare together.”

“Cal, this is my little brother, Karim,” Layla said placidly.

“Callum Fletcher,” I said as I shook his hand.

“Oh, dude—I know.Khale joonhas been here all friggin’ day talking to our mom about you. They spent the better part of the last two hours looking at your photo on the police department website.”

Layla rolled her eyes. “Well, it gets you off the hook for still being single.”

Karim shook his head. “Passed the bar exam, and they’re mad I’m not married yet.” He shook his head, turned, and padded deeper into the house.

“You ready for this?” Layla asked as we stepped into the foyer. Wafts of charcoal smoke carried the scent of warm herbs and spices through the hallways.

I wrapped my hand around hers and laced our fingers together. Her hand tensed, but I kept my grip tight. “Should I have worn my tactical hula skirt?” I joked.

The thought of me walking into her parents’ home, wearing my duty belt, to ask for their blessing made her crack a smile.A real one.

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