Page 8 of The Pact

Shrugging, I try to sound nonchalant as I comb my fingers through my dark waves. “He asked me this afternoon.”

“Oh.”

“What?” Turning to look at her, I wait as she purses her lips and crosses her arms.

“It’s probably nothing,” she says, then pauses. “Can he plan a decent date that quickly?”

Her comment elicits an eye roll from me. “Listen, not everyone can be like Anthony. He’s one in a million. It’s been twelve years since I’ve been on a first date. I’ll be happy if he opens my door and pays the bill, which I’m sure he will.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Cole is probably the safest choice for a first date. A test date, if you will.”

“Hell of a test subject,” Cassie mutters under her breath, shaking her head, her ponytail swishing back and forth.

Anthony is her perfect match. They both lucked out finding each other. How he takes care of her and makes her feel comfortable enough to relax once in a while is astounding. In all the years I’ve known Cassie, she’s always running at two hundred percent.

Anthony has gotten her down to a hundred, which is saying something. He puts her at ease and it makes me hopeful that I might find someone who fits me as well as they fit each other.

They met at his friend’s wedding. She was the photographer. At the end of the night, he walked right up to her and got her number. That was four years ago. I’ve admired their relationship ever since.

“I have to head home. Date night. But I want a full recap. Seriously, no detail left out, tomorrow morning. And text me tonight after he drops you off so I know he didn’t murder you or something.”

I laugh at her blunt humor. “Yes, mom,” I yell after her as she walks away. A final spritz of perfume, another swipe of lipstick, and I’m ready—right on time.

My phone buzzes and I see Cole’s name pop up on the screen.

4

THEA

I’m leaving the studio, eyeing the post-it note taped to the window. Lock Up! Ugh. It was only once. I forgot to lock the doors one time during renovations. Cassie writes these notes whenever she leaves before me. I’m not that forgetful. Yes, you are.

Despite the mild annoyance, mostly at myself, I’m thankful for Cassie’s effort to remind me. A sleek, dark gray SUV pulls up to the curb as I turn around.

I don’t know much about cars, yet the Range Rover’s distinct design is a dead giveaway. I hate that I’m impressed. I’m not a materialistic person, still it’s undeniably gorgeous.

Cole comes around to the passenger side, his eyes doing a quick once over that makes my breath hitch. My gaze sweeps over him in return. Tattoos cover one arm. I realize that I’ve never seen him in a short-sleeve shirt until now, even though it’s summer.

His forearm has been transformed into a wing, shaded feathers in beautiful detail stretch over his skin. Farther up, it’s harder to tell what the ink is depicting, but it almost looks like clouds and lightning. It disappears beneath the hem of his shirt.

Cole opens my door, giving me his hand to help me in. Slow, sultry music reverberates all around me, making my stomach tighten. Maybe this was a bad idea.

I can text Cassie right now to call with a fake emergency.

I don’t know how to date. I barely dated Gavin—we just kind of happened. Is the third date thing still a rule? What if it didn’t go well? Could I show my face in his bakery? What would I do without his amazing coffee?

Cole slides into the driver’s seat and gives me a reassuring look, as if he can sense my second guessing. I force myself to push the doubts from my head, knowing that I’m not used to this—not proper dates, anyway. I’m used to flirting and ditching. Dating takes practice.

“You look…” His hazel eyes take me in me again. “Incredible.” My cheeks redden, making him chuckle roughly.

The white dress with pink florals I’m wearing was an impulse buy that hadn’t yet made it off the hanger. Every time I thought I might have a place to wear it, I felt overdressed or indecent. Probably because of the high side slit and cleavage baring gathered bust.

In Atlanta, I could have worn it without a second thought. Here, in Willow Hill, modesty is expected. This dress is anything but that.

Tonight, it felt right, somehow.

“Thank you,” I finally answer. “You look great too.”

Cole is wearing jeans and a deep maroon V-neck shirt, fitted in all the right places. His athletic form fills it out nicely, tightening just so around his biceps and chest. My eyes shift from his arms to his face and while he’s staring at the road ahead, I have the feeling that he’s noticed my appreciation by the smirk pulling at his mouth.

“You seem nervous.” The statement hangs between us. I’m not sure if I should go into why he’s right. The silence is bothering me, so I vaguely explain.

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