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“If I remember correctly, you kissed me back.”
Heat spread through my cheeks and I put my attention back on my phone screen.
Sherry: Are you sure?
Lainey: Positive. You’re busy with Phoebe and Laurent’s wedding and all the other events coming up. Focus on that. I’m good. I’ll call you tomorrow.
I could practically hear her grumble through the three dots that kept appearing and disappearing before she finally typed a simple okay.
I slipped my phone into my bag, and a few blocks later, Nero stopped. “Here we are.”
“Where?” I glanced around, and Nero pointed across the street.
My head snapped toward the building, my eyes scanning all the way up the many stories of windows to the sky. “The Four Seasons, Nero. Seriously?”
He shrugged and stepped aside to let me in. A man with dark, sleek hair greeted us and whisked us into a glass elevator. The world around us zipped by. My ears popped, and before I could take anything in, the elevator dinged, and we were let out into a lobby filled with gorgeous flowers of purple and yellow.
“You are ridiculous,” I mumbled to Nero at the grandeur surrounding us, but he just smiled.
I glanced at my stained shirt and shifted at how out of place I felt. My fingers dug into the hem, hoping to hide the mess. How long had I been walking around like a badly frosted cake?
Nero’s hand landed on mine as he untangled my fingers from the material of my shirt. “You belong here as much as anyone,” he said, as if he suddenly could read minds.
“I wasn’t thinking that.”
His head tilted, eyes drifting to my ear and… damn it. I let my hand fall, yet his still held on to my other.
“I have frosting on my shirt,” I whispered.
“It’s not even noticeable.”
“And I’m the liar.”
We approached the check-in desk, and I stood aside while Nero checked us in. “Do you have any bags?” the blonde with big brown eyes and a pretty smile asked.
“Nope. This was an impromptu stay.”
“Spontaneity keeps life interesting.”
Nero glanced over at me, his eyes locking on mine. “Yes, it does.” He stuck his hand in his pocket, retrieving his wallet, and handing over his credit card, never looking away from me. “Very.”
“I need you to sign here.” She slid a receipt across the white marble, and Nero turned to sign.
I drifted away to admire the flower displays. The colors of purple and yellow complemented each other so well, and different ways to incorporate that in cake form zinged through my mind. A three-tier cake with purple and yellow gum paste flowers cascading down the center and exploding in a pool of blooms at the bottom. I was almost tempted to present the idea to Phoebe, but after weeks, she decided on her and Laurent’s wedding cake. I wasn’t about to make her second guess her choice. I would save that in my back pocket for another occasion.
“You ready?” Nero asked, standing beside me.
“I haven’t really had a choice since my car died, now have I?”
“Lanes, you always have a choice. Always.”
Swatting at the air, I turned toward him. “I know. I was kidding. Let’s go.”
I followed him, continuing to admire the flowers, floor to ceiling windows, and the people who looked much more put together than myself. If I didn’t forget to put the sugar in the damn cake, I would at least be showered. Maybe I could shower in the room. But the thought of Nero being on the other side of the door terrified and excited me. A weird combination, but one that was making my lips tingle. I bit down, hoping pain would divert my attention.
We arrived at our room, and Nero stepped aside to let me in first. As I crossed the threshold, I gasped at the floor to ceiling windows looking out at North Philly. I hurried toward the window, spotting the Schuylkill River and Eastern State Penitentiary. A smile tugged at my mouth as memories of when Dad took me and Austin for Austin’s birthday. He had watched the Godfather and became obsessed with old school mobsters, especially Al Capone. Dad wanted him to see Al Capone’s prison cell. As a kid, I thought it was cool. Now I wondered if Dad was just trying to scare Austin from a life of crime.
Nero’s warmth surrounded me as he came to a stop beside me. He leaned over, his face impossibly close to mine, his finger taping the window. “The Philadelphia Museum of Art,” he said. “You see it?”
