I slap my forehead. “And I said,I only drink tea.Shit! I thought you meant, like, if I wanted a coffeeright at that moment. Or maybe you were about to recommend a café in the neighborhood. Not like, did I wanta date with you.”
I’m rethinking that whole interaction, along with all the others since. But he’s smiling and rubbing my arms up and down in a comforting caress.
“Evie,” he says softly. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”
Why does this question scare me more than anything else we’ve done tonight?
Maybe because this is what Iactuallywant, and I told myself I was fine settling for less because I didn’t even have a chance of having more.
But what if I do? What ifwedo?
“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper, and I say it again, stronger. “Yes, I want to go on a date with you, Theo.”
He wraps his arms around me in a tight hug and buries his face in my hair. “Thank fuck.”
I clutch his big shoulders and laugh. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”
But as he’s straightening, my gaze falls on something just past him, something I would have noticed sooner if Tink hadn’t come out of hiding right when she did.
Everything in his apartment is neat, except for a collection of tools strewn across his square dining table. At first, I thought they were extras he’d removed from his tool belt, but now I see there are some extremely specific items that wouldn’t be required for typical home repairs.
Like the half dozen oddly shaped metal blades with rounded wooden handles, all spread across an unrolled sheet of leather. Or the set of paints in tiny plastic cups, next to a couple of clean fine-detail brushes.
I drift closer, taking in the tableau of supplies in the dim light. There’s also a crochet hook and a fancy pair of scissors.
And right in the middle of it all, a spool of red nylon cord.
I suck in a breath.
“It was you.” I pick up the spool and spin around to face him. “It was you!”
His brow furrows in confusion. “Of course it was me. Wait ... You didn’t know?”
My heart is racing and I can barely think straight. “How would I know?” It comes out as a tortured moan.
“At the party, you said ...” He trails off as realization dawns over his features. “You saidsomeonewas doing something sweet, and you were going to bake them a thank-you gift.” He chuckles and runs a hand over his face. “I thought you were playing coy and trying to find out my favorite dessert—which, by the way, is lemon bars.”
“Coy?” I shake the spool at him. “What about me makes you think I have the fortitude to play coy?”
Amusement is etched all over his features. “Who did you think it was?”
“Mrs. Greene!” I slump into one of the chairs.
He bites his lip as he considers this, then nods. “Yeah, I could see that. Is that why you were trying to talk to her at the party?”
“Yes, but I could never catch her. Speaking of, can we discuss how she and Mr. Barnes were obviously conspiring to trap us under the mistletoe?”
Now he looks bashful and rubs the back of his neck. The move highlights his chest and arm muscles to a thrilling degree.
“That’s probably my fault,” he admits. “They both know about my huge crush on you.”
I cross my arms and lean back in the chair. “And I’m sure Mrs. Greene guessed that I have a crush on you. That devious woman!”
Then I look at the tools again, incontrovertible proof of everything he’s been saying.
“What I don’t get is why?” I turn back to him. “Why go through all this for me? And why not just tell me?”
He pulls out the other chair and sits next to me. “Thewhyis that you told me your ornaments were in storage and you didn’t have time to get them. And I didn’t tell you because I felt bad about disturbing you the other day while you were working. I didn’t want to disrupt you again by knocking every time I brought one over. I also ... kind of thought you knew it was me and hoped you’d think it was romantic.”
