He lifts his chin and gives a closed-mouth grin. “Not at all. I’m just surprised.”
“By what?”
He takes three purposeful steps toward me and stops just close enough that the front of his coat brushes up against mine. Even in heels, I have to tilt my head up to see his face. The snowflakes sticking to his hair make it seem like we’re standing in the middle of a snow globe, not New York City.
I lean up and pop the collar of his coat, providing extra warmth to his neck. The action makes the corners of his mouth rise up.
“What does a romantic girl like you see in a guy like Branson?” he asks.
I have to look away from his smoldering stare as I think of all the reasons I adore Branson. “He has a way about him. A sophisticated grace. He’s kind, charitable, a true gentleman. Even when he’s dismissive of someone, he does it in a way that makes them think it was their idea. And he’s beautiful. I could get lost in his grin for days.”
“You know, if he does return your affection, you could lose your job. You can’t date your boss.”
“Then, that’s the risk I’m willing to take.” When I glance back to Hunter, I notice he’s no longer smiling. “Have you ever had a crush on someone like that?”
“Yes,” he breathes.
A chill runs up my spine. I tug my coat closer to protect myself from the cold.
I tilt my head to the side, wondering aloud, “Has someone broken your heart?”
“You’d have to let someone in first to give them your heart,” he says without hesitation.
“And you’ve never done that?” I ask.
Hunter places a hand on my cheek and pulls me in. The steam of his heated breath pours from his mouth as he draws me near.
We’re close—not as close as in the bar, but from this angle, I feel that mesmerizing pull, the one he has with women. It makes my chest rise and my lips part. My once-cold body is suddenly blistering with heat.
I blink, breaking our trance, needing the space to breathe for a second. I can’t tell if Hunter is trying to teach me something or what. He has this way with many women, I know. Maybe with some practice, I’ll have the same effect on men.
“This is me,” I say, clearing my throat and pointing toward my apartment that’s just a few buildings away.
Hunter nods his head and walks with me to the building. When we get to the front door, he waits as I get my key ring out and slide the lock.
Stepping inside, I turn to him. “Thank you for walking me home.”
He searches inside the narrow foyer, as if assessing whether it’s safe or not. “Text me when you get upstairs.”
“I’ve managed to make it safely up the stairs on my own for two years.”
“Now, I’m here, so I’ll hang out until you let me know you’re okay.”
I stare up at him with an incorrigible gaze. My defiance has him lowering his head to mine.
“Good night, kid,” he says, leaning forward and placing a kiss low on my cheek, close to my jaw.
“A Casablanca thing, huh?” I muse.
He grins and steps onto the sidewalk, slowly backing away. I enter my hallway and climb up the stairs to my five-floor walk-up.
When I get inside, I’m careful not to wake my roommate, Sofia, who is sleeping on the couch. She looks so peaceful, curled up under the red-and-white throw blanket I put out for the holidays. The television is on, showing a Netflix what to watch next screen, which means she fell asleep while watching a movie.
I lift the remote off the coffee table and turn the TV off. The only light in the room now comes from the Christmas tree in the corner, lit beautifully.
I step over to the window and peek through the curtain. True to his word, Hunter is standing on the sidewalk, looking up. His coat collar is still perked up the way I placed it before, and he’s absolutely handsome, standing in the snow glistening under the streetlight.
I take out my phone, flick the lamp on, and send him a text.
I’m home. Thank you for waiting.
He slides his phone out of his pocket and reads the message. When he glances up, his eyes collide with mine as he lifts a hand to his lips before raising his fingers in the air.
I catch the kiss and bring it to my lips.
“You’re amazing at the hunt, Mr. Johnstone,” I say against the pads of my fingers, and then I let my hand fall with a sigh. “Too bad you don’t believe in long-term romance. I have a feeling you’d be really good at it.”
With a soft smile lifting my cheeks, I close the curtain and step back from the window.
“You’re home early,” Sofia grumbles from the couch as she lets out a yawn.
“Shoot. I was trying not to wake you. It’s actually pretty late.” I walk toward her and motion to the television. “I noticed you had a Netflix binge tonight.”
She runs a hand through her thick brown hair as she sits up. She’s wearing an oversize sweatshirt that reads I Heart NY. “Yeah, well, since I had the place to myself, I figured I’d take over the living room, eat jalapeños, and cram in all the sci-fi I could handle.”
I laugh at her nightly description. Since we moved in together, we’ve agreed on almost everything, except for her love of supernatural shows and spicy foods. Judging from the takeout box from La Contenta, I know she’s had her fill of hot sauce for the month. As they say, when the cat’s away, the mice will play.
Speaking of cats, my fancy feline walks out of my bedroom toward the sound of my voice. With his paws covered in white, my boy sashays into the room and lets out a long stretch, like he just woke up from a yearlong nap.
“Was Mittens in my room all night?” I ask as I swoop my kitty into my arms. He’s actually not a kitty, as he’s seven and rather fat.
“That there is the snobbiest cat in all of Manhattan,” she says as she gathers her containers of food into a pile but not bothering to get up and throw them away.
I look down at Mittens, who is purring in my arms with closed eyes and a smile. “He’s an angel,” I baby-talk to him.
“He’s the devil in black-and-white fur.”
Mittens gives Sofia the side-eye before leaping out of my arms and sauntering back to my room. “He’s a rescue. You have to earn his trust.”
“He should trust I won’t feed him to the rottweiler in 2B,” she says as we watch Mittens’s tail dance as it disappears behind my door. “You should have gotten a dog.”
Shaking my head, I pull my coat off and sling it around a chair.
“Your hair looks pretty,” Sofia says with appreciation, and then a confused look crosses her face. “I thought you had it up when you left tonight.”
I bite my lip as I remember the way Hunter’s hands felt when he pulled the pins out of it. A vibration runs down my back as I rest my cheek to my shoulder, savoring the memory.
Man, Hunter’s right. I do live in a fairyland.
“Yeah, I wound up at a bar with a co-worker. My hair just made its way onto my shoulders.”
“No, no, no.” Sofia sits up straighter, moving her butt to the edge of the couch and peering up from her sleepy position. “You were supposed to talk to Branson tonight. This was the night for you to make your move.”
I let out a groan. While my crush is very private, I did let it slip to Sofia over the summer that I was smitten beyond reasonable control with Branson Ford. I blame the margaritas for my confession.