“Perfect.”
I feel as if I’ve won something, taken one step forward, and I intend to keep advancing. I’m not ready to let her go.
Not now.
Not yet.
But what if she doesn’t want to be with me?
Something tightens in my stomach and I force the thought away.
At a few minutes to one, Joe parks outside the front entrance of the Gilt building. The doors slide open and closed as people walk in and out.
Where is she?
I shouldn’t feel so much tension. It’s new and unfamiliar, and somehow, I can’t reason it away.
Unable to wait in the car, I get out and wait on the curb then lean back on the car, tapping impatient fingers on the smooth body. A moment later, she emerges from the building and my jaw nearly drops.
She’s wearing a silky top and a skirt that shows off her long legs. Her beautiful hair sways in the breeze as she walks, and for a moment, I’m unable to breathe.
What on earth is this feeling?
I stand upright, resisting the urge to go to her, to take her in my arms and promise her the world, promise her all the things I know I can’t give.
I shouldn’t have come.
Yet nothing could have kept me away.
I must be mad.
She approaches me, cautiously, like a curious fawn approaching a predator.
“Hey.” Her voice is breathy.
“Hey Rachel.”
There’s a short silence, and I open the door for her. When she’s seated, I go around the car to join her in the back. I don’t say anything as Joe pulls into the street, but I can feel her eyes on me.
I want to kiss her, to propose skipping lunch to go somewhere we can be alone, but I don’t want to scare her away. She looks nervous enough as it is.
“How’s your day been?” The trite question spills out from my lips and I almost cringe. Good job, Landon.
She shrugs. “Okay, just…work.”
I nod. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I’m pulled to her with a force that leaves me unable to think.
What have you done to me, Rachel?
The restaurant is on one of the top floors of a building overlooking the Hudson. Once seated, we stay silent as a waiter comes to take our order, but I’m aware of her, the way her eyes flit over me when she thinks I’m not looking. What is she thinking? What does she want?
Does she want me?
“You said you wanted to talk,” she reminds me.
“I did.”
“There was no need for us to come here because of your jewelry.” The stubborn expression is back. I’ve missed that, so fucking much.