Page 48 of Wingwoman
Then at the bottom, he added:
PS: Please don’t make me beg.
PPS: I already ripped the tag off of this scarf, so you can’t return it.
I had to admit, as far as wooing went? He was knocking it out of the park.
I untied the scarf from the vase and draped it over my shoulders.
It was absolutely stunning. Maybe there was something to this southern tradition of not refusing gifts.
I didn’t want to admit it, but Josh Gabriel was chipping away at my resolve.
Fourteen
HOPE
Nine days.Nine whole days had passed since the accident.
Since the kiss.
Five days since the flower delivery. I didn’t bring it up to him and he didn’t ask. Nothing other than a slight twitch of his brow when he saw me wearing the scarf two days ago.
I had gone full blast in my wingwoman duties. I’d attempted to set Josh up with eight different women. Almost one every night since the kiss.
Every single one of which he found faults with.
I’d also spent the last nine days trying to convince him the rodeo for Anita’s Hope Horse Rescue would be the perfect time to announce his new muse. But I was also quickly realizing that with only six days left until the event, I was backing myself into a corner with that deadline. Sure, we’d agreed on two weeks for me to find him a muse, but there was wiggle room with that. Not so much with a charity gala deadline.
Maybe I needed to back off trying to convince him of this. Or maybe, just maybe, the two-week deadline will pass without him realizing it.
Because if his date for tonight didn’t work out, I was screwed. I had no other options or ideas for him if he didn’t like tonight’s date.
Josh had promised me he wasn’t being picky for the sake of being picky. I wanted to believe him, but it was hard to imagine that out of all of these beautiful, smart, talented women, not a single one of them inspired his song writing more than I did.
I exited the condo, freezing as I reached my rental car.
Inside, resting on the front seat was another large white box. Another silk scarf was tied into a bow on top… this time, Burberry.
How in the hell did his people even getintomy locked car?
I climbed inside and unraveled the gorgeous scarf, inwardly weeping over the fact that I shouldn’t keep it.
I clutched the steering wheel hard. So hard the leather bowed beneath my grip as I turned into the small coffee shop parking lot. It was a cute spot my dad had showed me on my first day in town.
It was never super busy, except for the seven a.m. to eight a.m. crowd who grabbed a quick cup of java on their way to work. Other than that, it was mostly empty with the occasional person who stopped in, then quickly went on their way. So when Josh texted me that he wanted to meet up, this felt like the perfect, under the radar spot.
I put my car in park, slid the largest pair of Jackie O sunglasses I had onto my face, and locked the car before entering the coffee shop. I was immediately met with the sound of air whistling from the milk steamer as a strong scent of Arabica circled me.
I walked up to the counter and smiled at the woman behind the counter. She was young, probably college aged with natural auburn hair and a spray of freckles across her nose. My brain went immediately to business as I sized her up. Could a barista be his muse? Sure, she was young and he’d specifically said he didn’t want anyone too young, but she was adorable.
As I stood there staring at her, not the menus, she gave me an uncertain look. “Uh… may I help you?”
Shit. Even in my sunglasses, she must have known I was staring. God, I was getting desperate.
I shook my head, digging a hand into my purse and pulled out my credit card. “Yes, sorry. I’ll have a venti cold brew with room, please.”
From behind me, a low voice rumbled against my ear. “Venti? Where do you think you are, Miss Marcoux-Evans? This ain’t no Starbucks.”
