Page 53 of Just for the Plot

“Oh, probably smart.” He finishes zipping me up and I turn to face him, straightening out my simple dress with a square neckline.

“Do I look okay?”

He takes a minute to look me over. “You look really good.”

“Really?” I ask, my insecurities getting the best of me. I’m usually confident, but it’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, and that wears on a person, so, yeah, I might be questioning myself.

“Really,” he answers as he tugs on the loose strands of his hair.

“Well, that makes me feel much better, because I’ve been questioning every decision I’ve made while getting ready.”

“Don’t.” He wets his lips. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you.” I let out a sigh. “Okay, I should get going. I need to call a ride and—”

“I can drop you off.”

“Huh?” I ask, surprised by the gesture.

“I, uh, I was going to go grab some ice cream, so I can drop you off if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind,” he says while slipping on a pair of slides and plucking a hat and placing it on his head. He grabs his keys, phone, and wallet and then locks up, not even giving me an option to stop him.

Well, I guess he’s dropping me off.

He guides me to the elevator with his hand on my back then presses the down button.

“Uh, thank you.”

“Sure,” he says, as we both wait for the elevator, silence falling between us, because I was not expecting him to drive me around, and from the feel of it, he wasn’t expecting to do it either.

When the elevator arrives and opens, I stop him before he can get on and say, “You really don’t have to drop me off.”

“And deny myself ice cream? That makes me think you don’t know me at all.”

“I know you, and I know you would do something just to be nice, even if it’s inconvenient for you.”

“It’s not.” He rests his hand on my waist, turns me, and we both head into the elevator, where he presses the button that leads out to the garage.

He guides me to a matte black Rivian truck, where he opens the passenger side for me, and lends me his hand to help me in. I glance at him in question, but he just smiles, as if this is all normal when it doesn’t feelnormal at all, but I go with it. When I’m settled in my seat, he reaches for my buckle and hands it to me.

“Safety first, Bower.”

And here I thought he was going to buckle me in himself. No, that only shows up in romance novels, not real life, right?

He joins me on his side and then pulls out of his parking spot.

“Where we off to?” he asks.

“Oh, right, that might be good for you to know. We’re meeting at The Powell Pub.”

He glances over at me. “Really?”

“Is that bad?”

He shakes his head and presses forward. “Just…not a place I guess I’d take you on a first date—well, I mean, anyone, not just you, but I wouldn’t take anyone there on a first date.”