Page 68 of Flirting with Trouble

“There you go, making me like you even more,” I tease. “That sounds like a good plan. I’ll even reward you by tasting your pretzel.”

I tear off a piece of my pretzel, and we feed the pieces to each other. His dark eyes never leave mine, as the cheese and pretzel melt together in my mouth. “Well?” he asks.

“Mm. That’s not bad,” I say with surprise.

“Stick with me, Braden. I know my stuff.”

“What did you think of my pretzel?”

He leans closer and lowers his voice. “That cinnamon and sugar would taste better sprinkled on you.”

He steals another kiss. After we finish our pretzels, he drags me into a small market and buys cinnamon and sugar.

“You’re a nut,” I say as we walk out.

“And you’re going to be one tasty treat later.”

He kisses me again, and anticipation simmers inside me as we continue meandering down the sidewalk, window-shopping and chatting.

“You should come to the island next weekend. I’ll show you around.”

My nerves tingle. “I don’t know,” I say, trying to tamp down that flutter of anxiety.

“How about the weekend after? Give yourself time to get used to the idea.”

“I have to go back to LA a week from Sunday.”

“Date with your West Coast boyfriend?” His brows slant. “Whose ass do I have to kick?”

I smile. “All of the directors in the LA office. We have our annual meetings on Monday and Tuesday.”

“Uh-huh. A likely story,” he teases, and we head into a gift shop.

We make our way through the shop, showing each other postcards, magnets, and more touristy gifts.

“This is exactly what I’ve been looking for,” Wells says excitedly, and picks up a small black wooden box with a metal clasp that has New York Is For Lovers painted in neon pink across the top. “You need this.”

“I do? For what?”

“For our memories.” He opens the top and shows me the inside. “It’s perfect.”

“I don’t know about you, but my memories live in my head.”

“I mean the trinkets I’ve been putting in your purse.” He steps closer, and his eyes turn seductive. “The napkin from the first night we were together, and the other memories I’ve been sneaking in there.”

I was wondering if he was ever going to bring them up. I’m collecting them on my dresser, and every time I see them it makes me happy. But I can’t help teasing him. “What makes you think I didn’t throw them away?”

“Because I know you. You’re a keeper of special things, and I’m buying this for you.”

As the evening wears on and the sun sets, our conversations are as breezy as the warm summer night.

He drags me into a music store. “What are we doing here?”

“I figured I’d get myself a guitar. Up my street cred.” He heads for a display of guitars and grabs one off the rack.

“You didn’t tell me you know how to play.”

“I don’t. I’m hoping you can show me a thing or two.”