Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
ROMILLY
“Are you ever going to fix your car?” I ask, gesturing toward the warning lights on the dashboard as we get in.
“Too expensive, but that won’t be a problem soon, will it, sponsor?”
I laugh. “Not if my rating goes up, it won’t. But I wouldn’t hold your breath after what happened yesterday.”
Bash’s gaze softens, but he doesn’t say anything. He probably knows nothing he says could comfort me about that mess. And I’m too scared to look at my reviews to see if anyone mentioned me rescheduling them after their dogs had already been waiting at my salon for hours.
“Stop fretting,” he says. “You’re riding with Sebastian Black. Which means only fun and wildly irresponsible ideas are allowed from here on out.”
I snort. “Right.”
I’m probably going to regret this later.
Letting Bash surprise me with a “good time” can’t be a wise idea.
I should probably make him pull over and let me out now while we’re still downtown.
That way I could get a maple lavender latte and text Addison to come meet me.
We could sit outside Old Joe’s and sip our drinks, watching orange and yellow leaves fall and get crunched under the feet of those walking by.
It sounds like the perfect autumn afternoon. I know I should do it.
But deep inside…I want to keep spending time with Bash. And that scares me.
“At least give me a hint about where we’re going,” I say.
“Not a chance, pumpkin.”
“Are we going to be indoors or outdoors? What if I’m not dressed nice enough?”
He glances at me before turning back to the road but just laughs to himself.
“Give me a hint, Sebastian.”
He grins. “No.”
My mouth falls open. “Why not? I mean, this romper is an Iris Lily, so it’s one of a kind, but still. What if it’s not right for what we’re doing?”
“I have no idea what an Iris Lily is.”
“It’s my favorite boutique.”
He chuckles. And then after a semi-long pause, says, “You always look nice, Romilly. No… nice isn’t the right word. Beautiful might be, but even that seems insignificant.”
I don’t know what to say to that. My first reaction is to laugh, because he must be teasing or baiting me. But when he doesn’t follow his question with an explanation, I get angry. “How can you say that to me?”
He shrugs. “It would have taken more effort not to say it.”
“We work together. I’m your boss. I’ve told you that’s inappropriate.”
“Like the thoughts I get when I look at you.” His gaze lands right on my face, and he smirks. He actually smirks. Like it’s no big deal what he just said. I can’t believe him.
“You’re terrible.”
“Why?” His smirk is replaced by a full grin now.
“I’ll say it again. We. Work. Together.”
Bash’s smile widens. “That’s it?”
“And because it’s unnecessary. I don’t need to know what you think of me.”
“What if I need to know what you think of me?”
“I’ll tell you. But you won’t like it.”
He laughs loudly.
The car takes a narrow road that leads to the outskirts of Meadow Hills.
We wind past a row of weathered picket fences, old barns with faded red paint, and maple trees that explode in a riot of gold and scarlet on either side of the road.
Hay bales sit on a front porch we pass, decorated with pumpkins and a scarecrow wearing a flannel shirt.
A group of kids on bikes zoom by in matching knit beanies.
I roll my window down just in time to hear their laughter trailing behind them like ribbons.
I squint at Bash. “Is this the part where you murder me and toss my body into the woods?”
“Oh, Romilly…how I wish I could have kept you around longer.”
I flick his shoulder. “No, but really. Where are we going? The only thing past here is Sunset Ranch.”
He turns to me with an annoyed expression. “You just had to ruin all the fun, didn’t you?”
“We’re going to the farm?”
“Yes. You guessed it, you fun-killer.”
I laugh. “You see, this is what I mean about being dressed for the occasion. I’m just glad I chose boots instead of flats.”
Bash parks in the dirt lot outside the entrance to the farm. Then he turns to me and looks me over. He tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. It makes my stomach whirl with butterflies. So does the way he’s looking at me.
“You’re perfect, as always.” The words are a low murmur, different from the teasing tone he used when he said I give him inappropriate thoughts.
Part of me wonders if—like so many others—all he sees when he looks at me is my appearance. I know I’ve been hard at work with shutting his flirtations down, so I can’t blame him if that’s the case. Still, it disappoints me that it might be true.
But then I remember what he told me while driving me home last night.
You’re so kind, and intelligent, and lovely.
I can’t help it. I blush.
Bash gets out of the car and comes around to open my door for me. It should make me want to roll my eyes, but instead, I feel slightly giddy.
Especially when he takes my hand to help me out and then doesn’t let go.
He gives me a challenging grin, like he’s waiting for me to say something, or pull my hand out of his, but I don’t. I tell myself I’m holding his hand to challenge him right back and make him think he can’t get to me.
But the truth is that I like this way too much. Holding his hand makes my heart thump unevenly, and the pit of my stomach dance.
He leads us to the entrance of Sunset Ranch and buys all-day tickets. Curiosity burns inside me at what could possibly keep us here all day.
Together.
The wind picks up, finding its way into the opening of my leather jacket and making goosebumps spread across my arms. I take my hand out of Bash’s to zip it up, and his eyes trace the movement.
“You’re cold,” he says, removing his jacket and the scarf from around his neck.
“No, it’s alright. I’ll just zip this up.”
“Don’t be silly.” He hands me his jacket and wraps his heavy, maroon scarf around my neck himself.
Instantly, his scent swarms my nostrils.
It’s not that his scent is too strong or overpowering or anything.
It’s the opposite, actually. I can’t get enough of it, and when he’s not looking, I lift the scarf to my nose and inhale deeply, letting my heart react to the spicy citrus and sandalwood smell of Bash.
When I glance up, we’re standing in line to ride a hot air balloon. My eyes widen. “Um…have you done this before?”
He grins. “Many times. But I get the feeling you haven’t.”
“Nope. Can’t say I make a point to randomly ride hot air balloons.”
“Well, then you’re clearly missing out.”
I just stare at him, frozen in place.
“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” He looks amused, lips pulled up in a teasing smile.
“Of course not. Heights are fun!” I try to sound upbeat, but my voice wavers. “I’m fine.”
He laughs, throwing his arm around my shoulders. Leaning in close to my face, he whispers, “Truth be told, I was terrified the first time my mum dragged me onto one of these. She’s a bit of a thrill seeker, and I was nothing but a pansy the entire time. But I promise you’re going to have fun.”
I can’t help it. I smile. Being here with him is exciting, and the thrill of what we’re about to do makes me feel jumpy in a good way. “You’re right. We’re doing this.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I’m not your girl.” But the inviting grin that invades his expression when I say it makes him magnetic. Not to mention, his face is still right up close to mine.
Desire pools inside me, making me want to lean in closer.
By instinct, I blurt, “You should smile more. It looks so nice on you.” And then I realize how that sounded.
I scramble to clarify. “Not that you don’t always look nice.
You’re very handsome. But your smile is…
” I trail off, feeling extremely foolish.
My entire face burns with embarrassment.
But he just smirks, like I handed him a basket of gold. “And here I thought you found me repulsive.”
“Very funny.”
Layla Owens, the teenage daughter of the family who owns the farm, is managing the balloon line. She signals us forward, and I notice the balloon up close for the first time. The vibrant reds and golds of its fabric stretch upward into a massive dome, contrasting with the blue afternoon sky.
I take in the basket hanging below. It’s larger than I expected, woven from thick wicker, with high edges that will probably make me feel less exposed.
But still, my stomach churns at the thought of stepping inside.
The faint roar of the propane burner igniting overhead sends a shiver down my spine.
It’s our turn next.
With shaky limbs, I let Bash and Layla help me into the basket of the balloon. She explains the safety protocols for riding before checking our basket and shutting us in.
The pilot is a friend of my dad’s named Mr. Gerald, and most people in town know him as the stoic, elderly man who spends his mornings ignoring society at Buttercup Bakery with a cup of black coffee and a copy of The Meadow Bee .
Mr. Gerald gives us a nod as he tests the burner, sending a blast of heat upward.
The balloon lurches slightly, and I grip the edge of the basket, my heart pounding.
Mr. Gerald turns to us. “Hello, Romilly, and hello to you, young man. I’ll be flying with you today.” He goes over some basic safety protocols before tipping his hat to us and turning back to the burner.
“I sincerely hope there are parachutes on this thing,” I mutter, and as soon as the balloon rises into the air, I let out a nervous squeal.
Bash chuckles. “You’re adorable when you’re frightened, you know.”
“Stop flirting with me.” I may sound convincing, but I can’t deny I like it. No matter what I say, I don’t want him to stop.