Page 93 of Halo

"Was the plan growing another ten inches?”

She scoffs playfully, nudging me. “I'm not that short.”

“But the shelf is that tall.” I carefully bring the vase down. “Why are you putting something so heavy so high?”

“I needed a place to store it because I never use it. Now I have a reason to.” She sucks in her bottom lip, beaming brightly at me.

Damn. I guess I'm buying a garden.

Leah carries the vase to the middle of her kitchen table, turning it a few times until she's satisfied with the arrangement. “My great granny gave this to me when I got engaged. It's a family heirloom, so I couldn't exactly get rid of it. Plus—” She sighs—“it's really pretty.” She fluffs one stubborn bloom that refuses to cooperate before taking a small step back. “Perfect.” She slips an arm around me. “Thank you for my flowers, cowboy.”

“Of course.” I tuck her under my arm. “You ready to hit the road?”

She hums, beaming up at me.

I grab her black peacoat perched on the back of the couch. Holding it open, she gathers her dark hair over one shoulder before slipping her arms through the sleeves.

“Such a gentleman.”

“Shhh, don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation to uphold.”

We exchange amused glances and head for the door, but neither of us makes it more than a few steps before a dramatic whine echoes from the living room.

“Oh, you grumpy potato!” Leah laughs, leaning over and patting his belly. “We'll be back in a few hours.”

Angus answers with an indignant huff before circling twice on the couch and plopping down.

“Quite the charmer,” I murmur.

“And he has a nice bite.” She pats my arm as we step outside.

Did she say bite?

***

The heater hums to life as we pull out of the apartment complex.

“So …” Leah smooths the skirt of her dress over her knees. “Where exactly are we going?”

“I've got us reservations at the Briar.”

“The steakhouse? Wow …”

“Is that okay?”

“Of course.” She flashes me a crooked smile. “Look at you pulling out all the stops to impress me.”

“Is it working?”

She laughs under her breath. “I already am. You could've taken me to Whataburger, and—”

I scoff. “I'm not taking you to Whataburger for our first date.”

“Why not?”

“Because … it's … fast food. And you deserve something nice.”

She shrugs. “Whataburger does have fancy ketchup."