Page 33 of Luna
Dinner is amazing, but when isn’t Sabores del Horizonte? Even warmed up, it’s still almost as good as my mama’s food.
I hadn’t expected to find a Colombian restaurant in the middle of Colorado, and when I did, I wasn’t expecting authentic Colombian food.
Boy, was I wrong.
As we eat, I find myself paying closer attention to Prescott than usual. He’s definitely flirting with me, and he seems to find any opportunity he can to touch me.
It would seem Lark might be right.
This is what I get for doubting her. She’s one of the most observant people I’ve ever met.
She’s never going to let me live this down.
Prescott insists on washing the dishes once we’re done, and who am I to turn down his offer of help? I hate doing the dishes.
Once he’s finished, we make our way into the living room. “So do I get my present now?”
“Oh. I left it in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.” He turns on his heel and stalks back the way we came while I settle on the couch. When he comes back, he practically throws the bag into my lap. “Here.”
Yeah, he’s definitely acting weird. “Why don’t you sit down, Pres?”
“Right. Yeah. Okay.” He runs his hand through his hair again, a nervous tic I’m not sure I’ve noticed before, then lowers himself onto the couch with a good three feet between us.
“Why are you all the way over there?” I pat the couch next to me.
He glances between the couch and me, taking a deep breath before scooting closer.
This isn’t the first time I’ve hung out with Prescott, but outside of my heats, I don’t think he’s ever been in my house. I’ve definitely never been to his.
Maybe that’s why he’s acting so awkward.
“Are you going to open it?” he asks, a blush creeping up his neck as I continue to stare at him.
I shrug. “Yeah. I guess I should.”
Turning my attention away from him, I slowly open the bag and push the tissue paper out of the way. My hand sinks into something fuzzy and super soft.
I bite back the squeal my omega wants to emit and pull it out. It’s a blanket in a deep purple that I instantly fall in love with. I rub my face against the material, sighing at the feel of it against my skin.
“It’s perfect, Prescott. Thank you.”
“Oh, good. I was hoping it would work.” His hand is in his hair again. “I don’t think you own anything in this material, so it was a gamble, but it just felt so soft.”
I lay my hand on his knee, and his rambling trails off. “It’s perfect. You did really well.”
When his hand lands on mine, I fight back a shiver.
How did I not notice this before now? This weird connection Prescott and I seem to share?
We’re not scent matches.
Not that his citrus and oakmoss scent smells bad. In fact, I love it.
Before I know it, I’m leaning toward him. My lips brush the corner of his mouth, and I almost smile at his sharp intake of breath. “Thank you, Pres.”
“You already said that.” His voice is husky as his fingers trail over my arm.
“With a gift this perfect, I should thank you every chance I get.”
