“You don’t act egotistical. You’re very modest but confident. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”
Love?
Sharpness panged inside his chest.
She could never love him. He felt the certainty with every fiber of himself. Love required trust, and only a fool would trust him. He was his father’s son.
But he could prove he was more if he did this right. That was all he could ask for. He glanced at the clock and was amazed to see it wasn’t even ten yet. The events of the morning had felt life-changing, but they’d only been awake for two hours.
“I’m starving, and I need coffee,” he said. “I also need to get my car. All of my clean clothes are in there.”
Mostly, he needed some space. She was getting too close, and he needed to put distance between them. He got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, fully aware of his audience’s appreciative gaze. He felt a little ridiculous about it, but maybe he did it slowly. Maybe he flexed his abs and biceps as he zipped his fly and buttoned his pants. Because really, putting on pants required a lot of muscle.
“Hurry up and get ready, Stella.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“We’re going shopping. Couples do that on Sundays.”
* * *
• • •
Stella pursed her lips as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Michael had just opened up an entire new branch of apparel to her.
Yoga clothes.
In particular, yoga pants.
She was very possibly in heaven. The pants didn’t itch at all, and they were tight. She loved clothes that hugged her. Even better, they made her legs and butt look outstanding. She looked like a dancer. Or a yogi. Or some hybridized version of the two.
“Come out so I can see,” Michael said from outside the changing room.
Biting her lip to hide her smile, she opened the door and stepped out.
His crooked grin came out in full force, and his rare dimple winked. “Knew it.”
“Do you like it?” She smoothed a hand over her tummy and turned in a slow circle.
He stood up from the waiting chair and approached her, running appraising eyes over her curves. He slid a hand down the length of her neck to her shoulder and across the tight-fitting long sleeve so he could interlace their fingers. “I love it.”
“I’m sexy in this.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her near. “Very sexy.” He brushed his lips over hers and tickled his way to her ear and neck, making her squirm and bite back giggles that would have been decidedly unsexy.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a shopgirl watching her with open envy. The girl mouthed the words So lucky, and Stella grinned even though she had mixed feelings. None of this was real. She was paying for it. Not that she minded the expense. Michael was worth every penny.
“I assume you’re going to buy them?”
“One of every color.”
“I have to put my foot down. Not the fluorescent orange with yellow spots. It hurts me,” he said with a wince.
“No fluorescent orange and yellow, got it. Oh, they have dresses.” Her eyes rounded at the possibilities.
When they stopped for lunch at a small French bakery in the Stanford Mall, three enormous bags of apparel took up the space on the pavement by their feet. He insisted they had the best non-Asian sandwiches in California, which Stella found interesting because she hadn’t even known Asian sandwiches were a thing.
She expected the sandwiches to be stacked high with deli goodness, but when he brought lunch to their outdoor table, it was plain baguettes with turkey, Swiss, and butter. At least he’d bought an almond croissant, too. To her surprise, her first bite of the baguette was delicious.