Page 72 of Tender Offer
“Hi, Puff.” The huskiness in his tone pours warmth into my veins when his bear hug clasps my body to his. A jolt surges from my neck to my toes at his minty breath skating across my face.
Kojo always says,If he wanted to, he would. Actions speak louder than words, and Preston’s being here speaks volumes. If he’s in the air, he texts. Away on a business trip, he calls. We haven’t put a label on what we are, but him making time for me means more than he’ll ever know.
“You’re here.” I reach to kiss him, unable to help myself.
“I am, baby.”
He kisses me and extends a hand to Kojo. “It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for stalling.”
Kojo tips his cap and shows every damn tooth in his mouth. “Anything for this one. So, you’re Preston.” He steps back to scan him from head to toe. “I get it.”
“Is this why you’re dressed like that?” I snicker.
“I had my source of inspiration.” Kojo rolls his eyes. “Enjoy your evening, love. I’ll check in tomorrow.” He pulls me in for a hug and kisses my cheek. “Let him in, Madison. You deserve it.”
“Thank you.” My voice carries in a whisper.
“Take care of her, Fancy Brit,” Kojo coos. “You two are adorable!Puff,” he mocks with Idris Elba finesse. “I can’t!” He disappears behind hedges that gently blow in the cool breeze.
That’s my friend. Forever over-the-top.
“He’s really something.” Preston’s chuckle is low, amused without judgment.
“The best.”
His laughter fades into the soft caress of his gaze, like he’s seeing me for the first time. He cups my face. “Can I kiss you?”
“You already did,” I smirk.
Preston lifts my chin and brings his mouth to mine. Our lips brush in one peck that becomes another.
The taste of us is a free fall of emotions. There are no words, only a vow to live in the now we sear with a slow kiss.
We break apart at some point, our breaths a tiny cloud of heat in the air.
“Dinner is ready,” he says.
“Refill?”
“Yes, please.” I lean over the table with my flute, which Preston fills with champagne. “This”—I marvel at the wooden stands that hold a buffet of classic comfort food—“is amazing.” I always wanted to dine in a heated igloo, but I’ve never had time because of all the winter fashion events. He went all out and made it unforgettable.
Throw blankets are tossed over accent chairs to create a cozy vibe. Pulled pork sliders, cheeseburgers, and fish and chips are our feast. They’re bite-size for our dinner for two. It’s a small miracle I still have room to breathe in the pear-colored dress that clings to my silhouette. Dessert is questionable…unless a pastry somehow manifests on the table.
“It took a few favors, but it helps that my mother was a member of the conservancy,” he admits. “She spent a lot of time here.”
“Oh.”
“My father said he spent what felt like hours convincing her to leave the gardens. They were her favorite place, a break fromkeeping up with a CEO’s schedule. I come here when I’m in New York and need that stillness, or to feel close to her.”
His eyes wander to the distance beyond the transparent window panels, searching for the apparition of a mother he lost hours after she pushed him into the world.
Losing a parent so young is a different type of suffering. I miss Mawmaw, her deep belly laughter, Sunday meals, and swearing every June bug to Hell. I have decades of memories I can call on when her physical absence picks at my grief. It’s a scab that will never fully heal. Preston mourns a woman he never met, the blanket of a mother’s adoration he’ll never experience.
“Thank you for sharing her favorite place with me. She would be proud of you,” I say to the sadness finding residence in his expression. “Your kindness and your heart are a reflection of her love.”
“Thank you, Puff.” His shoulders ease, his gaze flitting between me and a place beyond my bare shoulder.
I automatically swipe at an out-of-place hair. It’s a pointless gesture, because the moisture in the air is forcing the ends I spent hours straightening to bend back to their natural curl pattern.
