Page 47 of Better Hate than Never

I try to wrench my arm away, but his grip tightens, strong, yet still gentle, like when we crashed into each other that first night I was home.

“What do you want, Christopher?” I say between clenched teeth. I’m a raw live wire surging dangerously, my skin hot, agitated, too tight for my body.

His hand slides down my arm until it clutches my bare wrist. Despite the chilly weather, his palm is warm and dry, his fingertips rough as they graze my skin. His thumb drifts along my pulse where it flies as fast as I want to move down this sidewalk.

He takes a step closer, his hip brushing mine. Then he brings a hand to my flowers, to the wide-open rose slipping from the bouquet, its petals bruised by the wind. Gently, he slides the stem back, secure once more.

He meets my eyes again. “I need to talk to you.”

“So talk.”

“Let me walk you home. We can talk there.”

“Walk yourself home and go to bed. You look tired as shit.”

“Why, thank you, Katerina, I am. And I will. But you first. You shouldn’t be out alone, especially when it’s nearly dark.”

“This again.” I sigh, shifting the bouquet in my arms.

After a beat, he says, “I’ll compromise. Let’s walk and talk.”

I swallow nervously. “Is this about last night?”

“In part, yes.”

My cheeks heat. “I don’t want to talk about last night.”

“Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t. Just let me walk you home. I’ll keep it brief, then leave you alone, I promise.”

I tug my hand away and take a step back. “I’ll pass.”

“Goddammit, you’re stubborn.”

“Goddammit, you’re bossy!”

Christopher holds my eyes and steps closer. His face softens. A sparkle settles in his eyes. “Katydid.” That ridiculous childhood nickname. My stomach doesnotdo a somersault. “Let me walk you home.”

I roll my eyes. “Is this you trying to charm me? Make me swoon? Whatever it is, stop. It’s not working.”

“And yet you’re clutching the flowers I sent like they’re your favorite camera.”

I peer down at the flowers, my stomach souring. “You sent these?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.

His mouth lifts at the corner. “Yes.”

“An unconscionably expensive, gorgeous gift? Trying to buy your way out of something?” I give him a wide-eyed, exasperated look. “Of course you did. It’s got you written all over it.”

“So youdothink they’re gorgeous?”

“They’re obscene. I can’t stand them.”

His smile widens, those warm amber eyes heating as they dance over my face. “I don’t think so, Katerina. You love flowers. You always have.”

A sharp, searing pain slides down my sternum. It’s been so long since I let myself expect kindness from Christopher. I’m scared to trust it, bewildered by his sudden change in behavior. “Why are you doing this? Why are you sending me flowers and a card with some cryptic line on the back and enough pastries to feed the whole damn store?”

His eyes widen. He blinks at me like he’s stunned I’m not just gobbling up this suave and debonair act. “I thought... the flowers would make your day a little better. And the pastries, I figured you’d share, that everyone working at the store had been drinking a good bit last night and could use some hangover food.”

My heart’s sprinting in my chest. Why would he be nice? Whythis sudden change? I want to reach out with both hands and take his olive branch, just as much as I want to protect myself and snap it clean in two. “So you were just being...nice?”

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