Page 38 of My Lucky Charm

The GPS leads us to my apartment, which is above a bakery on Cupid Lane right downtown. Downtown Loveland is much different than downtown Chicago, and if I had to guess, my apartment is much different from his.

“You live here?” he asks as Gerard brings the car to a stop.

I point. “There’s a loft space above the bakery.” I look at him. “It smells amazing. Like bread and doughnuts all day long. Not great for the hips.” My laugh sounds nervous, even to me.

While I’ve got windows that stick and hardwood floors, I’m imagining Gray’s place is all straight lines and modern metallic fixtures. If he’d let me inside, I could even make a place like that feel homey, another one of my unimpressive talents, but the odds of that happening are most likely zero.

I reach for the handle, but stop before opening the door. I’m overcome with emotion, and I think the accident is catching up to me. I’ve put on a brave face until now, but the trauma of it is starting to spill over.

“I’m . . . I’m really sorry about the car.” I say, my voice shaking a bit. “Not a great first day of work, right? Especially when you didn’t want them to hire me in the first place.”

“It’s fine.”

I pause. It really isn’t, but I don’t argue. “And I’m also sorry for the rambling. My sisters say I’ve always been like this.”

“Like what?”

“Chatty.”

He stares out the window. “It’s fine. It was—” He stops.

“It was . . . ?”

A shrug. “Nice.” He’s still not looking at me, so he doesn’t see me smile.

“Nice, huh?” I say, because why would I accept this comment like a normal person when I can draw attention to it like a weirdo? “Nice.” I shimmy my shoulders a little. “I feel like this was a breakthrough.”

“It wasn’t.”

“We just had a moment.”

“We didn’t.”

“You’re going to warm up to me. I promise.”

He leans toward me, eyes fixed on mine, and my stomach flip-flops at his nearness. But when he opens my car door and nods for me to get out, it’s like a smack back to reality. Still, I’m smiling at him like a dolt.

“Okay, well . . .” I draw in a breath and let out an exaggerated sigh. “I guess I’ll see you when you get back from your trip.” I swing my legs over and look back, the dome light casting a shadow on his face. “And good luck with the hockey thing. Hope it works out.”

It’s slight, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch. Is he holding back a smile?

Surely not.

But all at once it feels like my mission to see it, to be the reason for it. An authentic Grayson Hawke smile.

I don’t linger because I’ve made enough of a fool of myself here, but when I get out of the car and close the door, I hear him say, “Eloise?”

I turn and find he’s rolled the window down. I take a step back toward the SUV, wishing he’d say my name again and then immediately wishing I would stop thinking things like that.

And yet, somehow the way he handled my crashing his forty bajillion dollar car—with kindness—has managed to make my resolve to keep him at an arm’s length a little wobbly.

“Hey, yeah?” I say because I’m trying to cover up for the fact that I’m actively working to not look at his lips.

He reaches into his pocket, finds a key ring, removes a key, and hands it to me.

“What’s this?”

“Key to my apartment,” he says. “I’ll send the address.”

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