Page 75 of No Match Found
“Andyou’llprobably forget where we park,” I shot back.
“That was one time.” Instead of his usual button-up shirt, tonight he was wearing a t-shirt—not unlike the one I was wearing, but it hugged his chest and shoulders just enough to tease what was underneath. He wore slim-fit khaki pants, and I realized he was holding a small box.
He held it out. “It’s for you.”
My heart skipped like a scratched CD. He got me a gift? Was this what he meant when he’d said he wasn’t going to go easy on me?
“What is it?” I asked like he might be handing me a grenade.
He chuckled. “Just open it.”
I took the box and fiddled with the top. I hated that my heart was beating like this was anactualgift from Grant rather than part of all the stops he’d promised to pull out. That was how I needed to think of everything he did tonight—as stop signs. I needed to come to a complete halt, look in all directions for anything about to t-bone me, then proceed with caution.
I released the little hook latch on the box and lifted the lid.
I stared at the contents for a second, then my gaze flicked to Grant. “Uh…what is it?”
“My take on flowers.” He shrugged. “It reminded me of you.”
I’d had some offensive things said to me over the years, but that might have taken the cake.Thisreminded him of me? This thing that I could only describe as a dried-up, miniature tumbleweed?
I relatched the box lid. “Is this you not going easy on me? Gifting me a decrepit baby bush?” I set it on the entry table, though I’d have been tempted to chuck it in the garbage can if there’d been one within reach.
I’d assumed thatpulling out all the stopswould’ve meant him trying to do everything he could to sweep me off my feet. Maybe I’d been wrong, though. Maybe in his twisted mind, testing the algorithm meant doing everything in his power to insult me?
I didn’t really see the path forward, but Grant Wilder’s mind was a mysterious place.
He grinned. “I guess you can water it later.”
I flipped off the light switch and rolled my eyes at him. “I think we’re a bit past that point.”
He offered me his arm, and I shot him a quizzical look. What was this, 1800 at Netherfield Park?
From any other man, it would’ve felt like he was trying too hard, but somehow Grant managed to make it seem charming and fun. I hated that.
He kept his arm out until I took it reluctantly.
We made our way to the parking garage, and he led us straight to the red Corolla, smiling at me like he’d found his car using echolocation and it hadn’t been in the spot right next to the elevator.
He walked me to my door and opened it, and I suddenly realized how long it had been since I’d had someone do that for me. I’d worked hard in life to be seen as independent and capable, which meant people often assumed I didn’t like chivalrous gestures like opening doors or pulling out chairs.
And I didn’t—when it was done in a patronizing way. But Grant wasn’t patronizing me. I almost wished he would. It would make tonight easier.
I tried not to betray my interest in where we were headed. WheredidGrant take women on a first date—especially a woman he’d warned he’d be doing his level best to woo? He’d failed with the tumbleweed thing, but maybe that was just to throw me off the scent. Maybe he was about to blow my mind.
The fact that I cared so much was problematic. I needed to be less invested in every aspect of this date.Stop signs, I reminded myself.
We pulled into a strip mall, and my eyes scoured the storefronts, trying to locate our destination. Grant guided us into a parking space in front of a restaurant called Hungry Hank’s.
I’d never eaten there, but I knew the place by reputation, and they could’ve been considered the baby tumbleweed of restaurant chains. What was Grant’s angle? Or was he justthisbad at dating?
He was a smart guy, so that was hard to believe. Then again, I’d known too many incredibly intelligent men with the social skills of hermit crabs to write off the possibility entirely.
“I’ll get your door,” Grant said, getting out of the car.
I waited patiently as he came around, opened my door, and put out his hand to help me. Some part of me realized that allowing these little chivalrous acts wasn’t in my best interest, but it seemed so petty to refuse the help that I took his offered hand.
I’d seen the Kiera KnightleyPride and Prejudiceplenty of times in my life, but I’d never understood the Darcy hand flex better than the moment Grant let go of my hand. I needed to reset the nerves and their connection to my brain. Or heart, maybe.
