Inside Out - Lauren Dane [82]
“Look, we had some fun and all. But that’s in the past, and I’ve moved on.”
“Don’t kid yourself. You and me are alike. We don’t do relationships. We do each other. You’ll fuck up and prove me right.”
Still laughing, she moved past him with a little wave, leaving him pissed off in her wake. He wasn’t like her anymore. He had changed, and it was all about Ella, damn it. He could do it. He was boyfriend material, partner material even. It wasn’t even a matter of changing; he’d just been waiting for the right person, and he had her.
Ella smiled as the scenery whizzed by. “The trees are so pretty. I’m glad I brought my camera.”
“Camera, huh? We gonna do anything to be recorded for posterity?”
She snorted a laugh. “Um. No.” Not that she didn’t have a detailed memory of just how he looked naked. One she called up frequently because, well, hell, because he was fine!
“Party pooper. I made reservations at a little Italian place near my friend’s house. It’ll be a late dinner. That okay? I can stop now if you’re hungry.”
“No, I’m good. I eat at nine and ten a lot. But I’m sleeping late tomorrow.”
“Red, we’re sleeping until at least eleven. Then I’m going to ravish you, and we can nap until we decide if we want food or not.”
She felt her grin all the way to her toes. All the happy he brought to her life made her giddy. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve smiled this much,” she murmured, watching the sky purple, deepen into night.
“Thank you.”
“No. Thank you. Thank you for the package. I had the perfect frame to put the drawing in. I’m . . . well to say I’m touched and flattered doesn’t really do justice to how it made me feel. And you’ve been hiding another talent from me. Are you good at everything?”
He took her hand casually. “Now I’m touched and flattered. Which talent are you referring to?”
“The drawing. And what poem did you quote?”
“That’s mine, the poem that is. Just a little something. The drawing’s just a scribble. Nothing major.”
Was he kidding? “Nothing major? Get out of town. It’s beautiful. So you’re a poet, and artist and you do amazing woodwork? Damn, Andrew Copeland, you’re hiding your light under a bushel.”
“You’re beautiful, Ella. I just let the pen put a small part of you on paper.”
Do you just not know? How can you not see how wonderful you truly are? She thought about this a lot as they finished the drive west. How could he not know? Did his parents just not ever tell him how wonderful he was? Despite his father’s asinine behavior of late, Annalee seemed to adore her children.
“Here we are,” he said, pulling down a quiet street that fronted the sandy dunes and the water just feet away.
“Wow.” She got out once he’d parked. The sharp scent of sand and salt water painted the evening air. It was cold enough she needed to clutch the front of her sweater together to ward off a chill.
And he was there, beside her, putting his arms around her. “Mmm. You feel good. Come on inside. We’ll drop off the bags and head to the restaurant.”
The place was lovely, romantic and intimate. The meal had been pleasant as Andrew held her hand while they talked about everything under the sun.
Until the bill came.
She reached for her bag, and his eyes goggled. “What are you doing?”
“Helping pay.”
He shook his head. “No you’re not. I invited you away for the weekend. I invited you for dinner. I’ve got this.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I want to help.”
“You tried this the other day at Top Pot too. I’ve got my own company; I make more money than you do. It’s silly to try to pace me like I have a mental tally in my head. I don’t.”
He studied her as she tried to figure out how to let it go or else make him see her perspective.
“Remember when I told you you were transparent, and everything you felt showed on your face?” He kissed her knuckles. “Tell me. This is clearly more than you feeling generous or like you ordered lobster or something.”
“I like to pay my own way. Paying my own way means I own everything