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She ignores the sarcasm only because he lets her loop her arm through his and drag him in the opposite direction from the short ribs she was this close to having. As far as her ex’s presence recalibrating her life goes, choosing a different restaurant is only the start, she’s sure.
“I just thought you looked hungry and could use a hot lunch. Cleaning is such exhausting work, after all. My treat to welcome you to town!” she says airily.
“Riiiiight. You expect me to believe this is all for my benefit?” Ves adjusts the sleek black messenger bag on his shoulder. “Beware of small-town girls bearing gifts and all that.”
Okay, one, rude. That isn’t even the expression. And two, rude. Elisha knows she’s an attractive woman. No, scratch that. She’s a total babe that anyone should be happy to have lunch with, especially when it’s free. What is it going to take to un-Grinch this guy for good?
“I’m welcoming you,” she says between gritted teeth, tugging him along. He allows it but maneuvers so she’s forced to switch to his other arm on the interior side of the sidewalk. “It might be nice to find some common ground before we tackle Maeve’s house, right?”
Ves starts to turn as if to glance behind them. Elisha makes an embarrassing squawking sound. “Pay attention! It’s icy here!” She clasps him a little tighter.
He laughs, as if bemused. “Calm down. It’s one inch of snow. It’s nothing compared to last week’s snowfall in the Windy City.”
“Since I’m apparently responsible for your safety, I’m taking no chances. You’re precious goods.” She makes the mistake of looking up at him, only to catch him looking back. Brows furrowed, mouth slack. It’s the first time since she’s known him that he hasn’t had a smart retort at the ready.
Until this moment, she’d known he was Burberry coat–model handsome—she has eyes, after all—but knowing it and seeing it in zoomed-in, HD, full brightness is another. Her stomach whirls like the hand-carved spinning tops Grandpa Dave used to make for the emporium. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.
“What?” Ves is the first to break eye contact. He dislodges his arm from hers only long enough to fuss with his scarf, making adjustments so minor that she can’t see the difference, before letting her have it back.
Blood rushes hot to her face. “Nothing,” she says quickly.
Ves narrows his eyes. “A more suspicious ‘nothing’ has never been uttered.”
Elisha doesn’t know where to look. Behind, to make sure she’s successfully avoided Bentley? At Ves, the human equivalent of the North Pole? Chilly, distant, steeped in mystery?
He palms the leather messenger bag. It’s a telling gesture, as though he wants to remind himself that it’s there. Splayed out that way, his fingers look enticingly long and, unsurprisingly, neatly trimmed and buffed. She’s never been with a guy who has better nail beds than her.
She blinks. Not that she’s with Ves now.
Okay, yes, she is with him, but not with him with him. They’re just going to the same place to share a meal and absolutely not swap spit or any other bodily fluids. A mundane, unmemorable Monday. No mortifying crushes being formed, no delicious down-there tingles. Move along, people, nothing to see here.
She keeps it light with “Yeah, you’ve got me. I was just trying to figure out whether you’ve robbed that bank.”
“And of the two of us, you think I’m the most likely suspect?”
“Well, you are wearing all black and acting a little sus about your bag,” says Elisha. “Your scarf, on the other hand...” Her smile is wry. “Not exactly camouflage. You’re clearly new to a life of crime.”
Without missing a beat, he asks, “Offering to share your trade secrets?”
She good-naturedly rolls her eyes. “Seriously, though. The scarf doesn’t seem like your style. Too... homespun.” Which is exactly why she loves it. It’s chunky and soft-looking, and she might be a little jealous because she’s freezing her nips off. She bundles her shacket tighter around her.
Ves arches one dark brow. “And what do you know about my taste?”
“Hey, I nailed your sweet tooth pretty well.”
She suddenly realizes he’s made sure to put himself between her and the street. It’s unexpected and oddly touching, a boyfriend gesture she forgot how much she missed.
He scoffs. “That’s an easy one. Who doesn’t love sweets?”
She hums her agreement. “That we can agree on.”
He makes sure they sidestep an icy patch. “Anyway, it was a gift.”
“Christmas gift from a girlfriend? Wait, I’m being nosy, you don’t have to answer that.”
“Told you I don’t date over the holidays,” he reminds her.
Two little kids pulling at their harried-looking mother’s hands squeeze past Elisha and Ves on the sidewalk. He angles his body into hers for a too-short second where she forgets to breathe, then pulls away with a mumbled apology. Once again, his chest is in her personal bubble. His very hard, solid chest.
