He tore off a paper towel from the holder next to the sink and wiped his mouth. “Because, earlier, you told me I was Henry Alexander. I’m not. I’m Henry Gilchrist. I’m a simple man who makes music the same way you’re a man who flies planes.”
I took a step toward him. “And you decided to face your biggest fear of flying to tell me this? You could have texted.”
He grinned proudly. “Texting did cross my mind, but where’s the romance in that?”
The walls around my heart began to shake, and I instinctively took two steps back before firing off the first thing that came to mind. “Romance doesn’t sound casual.”
His eyes darkened at my retreat, but he didn’t let it dampen his mood. “No, it doesn’t, but you didn’t sound all that casual earlier, either.”
“I was in a bad mood.”
With a confident smirk, he closed the distance between us. “Yes. You were. And so was I. I’m sorry for being short, Evan.” He winked when my breath caught. Leaning toward my face, he rubbed his jaw against mine and whispered in my ear, “Suddenly, I’m feeling better. How about you?”
I was.
Actually, I was fucking elated.
And suspicious.
And worried.
I backed away. “Why did you come here?”
He moved back to his bags on the counter and started digging through them. “I like you. I believe I mentioned that on the phone. However, my favorite part of that call was when you, in a roundabout way, admitted you liked me too.”
Fan-fucking-tastic. I’d fucked up when I’d caught an attitude. I just hadn’t realized I’d opened a door too. And I sure as hell hadn’t had any idea just how quickly Henry was planning to storm through it.
I squared my shoulders. “Maybe, but I don’t think that required you to fly across the country to see me.”
He propped his hip on the counter and crossed his arms across his chest. “You want me to leave?”
Fuck no. But what I did want was for him to stop talking so I could stop thinking. “No.”
He shot me wickedly seductive smile. “Good, because I brought dessert too.”
Now, dessert I could do, because I had a sneaking suspicion that it involved being naked. But this—whatever he had to say—I wanted over as quickly as possible.
“So talk,” I said.
“Well…okay. I figured we could eat first, but—”
“Talk,” I ordered sternly.
“Stop barking at me. My nerves are shot after the flight.”
And, with that, I felt guilty. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed. “I’m sorry. If you want to eat—”
Only I didn’t get to finish before he rushed out, “For the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do.” He laughed. “I mean, seriously. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath since that night in L.A. I’m starting to become a little delirious. So I’ve been letting you run the show. All I want is for you to be comfortable.” He paused to smirk. “Well, I mean, that’s not all I want, but your being comfortable is an integral part in getting what I do want. Which, just in case you’ve misunderstood any part of me being here, that something is you.”
My body tensed as my mind flooded with a million things I wanted to say and even some I told myself I needed to say. But my brain wasn’t firing in the proper directions at all. His words should have terrified me, but they only made me want to kiss him that much more.
I cleared my throat. “That really doesn’t sound like casual.”
He smiled, reached into one of his brown bags, and pulled out a bouquet of deep-blue flowers. “I guess I’m not a casual kind of guy after all.”
I blinked. “Did you seriously bring me flowers?”
“Guys can like flowers!” he defended.
I shot him an incredulous glare. “None I know.”
“Well, none I know, either, but I was hoping you would. I was on a serious time constraint while shopping.” He looked from me to the flowers and back again and then twisted his lips. “Okay, so no flowers.” With a dramatic toss, he threw them over his shoulder.
They bounced off my pantry door before falling to the floor.
I did my best not to laugh only to fail miserably. “What else you got in there, Casanova?”
He bit his lip and then began digging through his bags again. Next out was a bunch of chocolate-covered fruit in a clear, plastic container.
“I tried, but they didn’t have kiwi. Sorry. I noticed that was all you ate out of the snacks at the hotel.”
I couldn’t even remember if I’d eaten kiwi in front of him, but he’d not only noticed but also remembered.
Why did that feel so good?
Why did it make my stomach twist?
Why did it fill my chest with a warmth that I swear seeped into my bones?
I had no clue how to react to any of those things.
When I didn’t respond, he discarded the fruit on the counter.
“Right. Stupid. But look what I have that goes with them?”
“Henry…”
“Whipped cream!” he exclaimed, pulling out a tub of Cool Whip.
“A tub?”
His shoulders fell. “Come on. Cut me some slack. It was all I could find.” The disappointment on his face made me burst into laughter.