Page 19 of One Wrong Move

“Mm-hmm. Thank God,” he says dryly.

“Besides, you’re likely very busy. What hot date did you have to cancel tonight to take me here instead?”

He rolls his eyes. “Harper.”

“Come on. There must be someone. Or many someones?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “I’ve heard stories from Dean, about your dating life.”

“All exaggerations, I’m sure.”

“I think he was underplaying it.” I nudge Nate’s shoulder as we come to a stop next to his car. It’s safe and sound in the VIP parking spot beside the museum, surrounded by taxis and people, but I still think it’s crazy to drive in London.

Crazy… and very him.

“I didn’t have a date for tonight,” he says. “You saved me from looking humiliatingly, embarrassingly alone.”

“Oh, because you’re never seen alone?”

“I avoid it at all costs.” He unlocks the car and opens the passenger door for me. “At your service.”

“I bet ladies love this car,” I tell him.

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling as he shuts the door.

I lean back in the seat and buckle up. Happiness is a beautiful lingering feeling in my stomach. What a night. And as I look around the vehicle’s interior, it’s easy to imagine Nate impressing his dates with it. I bet they would be impressed. Dean had mentioned some of the women Nate had gone out with. One was a model, I recall. And then there was a struggling actress, and I believe there was a singer at another time, too.

I know he was engaged. Once. Long before I met him and Dean. Nate was in his midtwenties then, and it didn’t result in a marriage. But more than that, I don’t know.

Nate slides into the driver’s seat. He reverses one-handed, turning around to look over his shoulder at the pedestrians. His jacket sleeve rides up to showcase a thick silver watch around his wrist.

I cross my legs. “I can’t believe you spent… I can’t even say the amount. That much money in one evening.”

“Mm-hmn. On the painting?”

“Yes? What else could I possibly mean?”

“Oh, parking here is outrageously expensive,” he says. “I drop a fortune on that alone each week.”

“The Tube isn’t that bad, you know.”

“I’m sure. That’s why I don’t go on it. Leaves room for other people to enjoy.”

“You’re such a philanthropist.”

He smiles, eyes still on the road. It’s a small, genuine smile, as if he’s enjoying this. Not like he’s trying to charm or impress. I hadn’t noticed there was a difference before.

“That’s me,” he says. “So come on. Tell me where I’m driving you to.”

“Uh, it’s a bit far.”

“I can do far. I prefer far.” He runs a large hand along the leather of his steering wheel, almost lovingly. “So where to?”

I tell him the name of the area first. He nods, but a faint frown invades his profile. “Right. A rental?”

“Yeah, short-term. It was all I could find, considering I decided to move so… so quickly.

“I’ve never been to Fairwood.”

“I can bring it up on the GPS,” I say.

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