Page 120 of Blush Crush

She beelines for the historical romance section, hyper-focusing on the task while I try to shake my fuckup. I should’ve just fucking told her, but I froze up like an idiot.

After she finds the fake dating book she was looking for, it’s on to the last two items on the list. A book where one of the main characters has the same job as her. She finds it easily, choosinga book with a coffee shop illustration. And last but not least, she has to pick out a book she thinks I would like.

She ends up going with one about a private investigator and a DEA agent teaming up to take down a tech billionaire’s drug empire. Surprisingly, it actually does sound good.

Armed with a stack of books, we check out, and Evelyn makes sure to invite us to the grand opening. Once we’re settled in my truck, Ariana lets out a contented sigh.

“That was fun. Like, actually really fun. I can’t believe you thought of all that.”

I try not to let the swell of pride consume me, but I can’t help it. Hopefully she enjoys the second part of the date as much as she enjoyed the first.

“Buckle up. We’re not done yet.”

CHAPTER 35

Ariana

REAL-LIFE FAIRYTALE

This is a real date.

It has to be. Especially when there was no need to perform because we were the only ones in the bookstore.

And not just any bookstore, a romance-only bookstore that Cole managed to discover before me.

How could anything ever top this?

Now we’re on to the second part of the date, and I can’t imagine what he has planned. It’s already the best date I’ve ever been on and it’s not even over.

“Thank you for the books,” I tell him as we get back on the main drag through town.

Evelyn wrapped them up so nicely I almost don’t want to put them on my shelf when I get home.

“And renting out an entire bookstore just for our date,” I add.

I don’t know what to say, I’m feeling tongue-tied. Nervous. Which is silly, really. I’ve literally been naked with Cole. But none of the words coming out of my mouth feel sufficient to express just how special that was to me.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” he says, a rare softness to his voice.

Maybe I’m imagining it, but I think he might be just as nervous as I am. Cole Benton, nervous? The thought has the tightening in my stomach loosening like ribbons untangling and blowing in the breeze.

We sit in an easy, comfortable silence as the town slips by. The moon hangs high and bright overhead, its light glinting off the wet pavement where the last of the snow has melted.

Cole turns down a private, tree-lined road. I have no idea where it leads but my excitement mounts regardless. At this point I don’t even care what he has planned for the next part of our date. I’m just happy to spend time with him like this.

No one has ever put in this much effort for me. Even my family—who are loving and amazing—have shared so much between Layla and me. Shared birthdays. Shared milestones. And Layla has always been the more exceptional one. As proud as I am of her, it’s easy to feel overlooked. Forgotten, sometimes.

It’s no wonder my feelings for Cole have become real. I just hope I’m not the only one who’s fallen—fallen to the point it feels like my heart might burst. The only thing holding me back from being honest with him is that nagging little voice in my head reminding me, very clearly, that we want different things.

If he does reciprocate my feelings like I think he might, does that mean there’s actually a future for us? Because if he’s still averse to commitment then what’s the point of dragging this out any longer?

I’m not going to be with someone with one foot out the door, just waiting for the next shiny object to catch his eye. It’s a recipe for heartbreak, and one that would hurt so much more if we let this become a genuine relationship, knowing it was never built to last.

“So, you might be disappointed by this next part,” Cole says, interrupting my thoughts. “I thought it was a good idea, but nowI’m second-guessing myself,” he admits, his voice wavering from his usual air of confidence.

Sometimes Cole is so in control of himself it’s intimidating. He doesn’t let many people see the man behind the curtain, but catching those fleeting slips—the beautifully flawed human beneath the layers of tailored clothing and charming wit—feels like a privilege. Being trusted with the pieces of himself he keeps carefully guarded from the rest of the world does nearly unbearable things to my heart.

I place my hand over his, the smoothness of my palm against the tough skin wrapping his knuckles. The juxtaposition of the size difference has my lips lifting. “I promise I’m going to love it.”