Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
Madison
I should have warmed him up. That’s what I should have done.
You don’t just take a man like Dr. Beckett Lawson and drop him directly into a Saturday afternoon shoe shop with a sale sign in the window.
It’s irresponsible.
The place is packed. Boxes are stacked to the ceiling. Someone is arguing about a return policy, and a child is screaming because his mother won’t let him lick the mirror.
Beckett stands just inside the entrance, taking it all in.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods once. “I’ve seen worse.”
I beam. “I’m so proud of you.”
We’re greeted by a sales assistant who looks about nineteen and is entirely too energetic.
“Hi guys! Looking for anything specific today?”
“Yes,” I say confidently. “Shoes.”
She blinks. “Right. What kind?”
I glance at Beckett, who, bless him, doesn’t flinch. “Whatever she wants.”
The girl smiles. “Love that.”
I shoot him a look. “See? Healthy masculinity is attractive.”
“Come on,” he says, guiding me forward. “Let’s see if I can survive this.”
Two minutes later, I’m pulling at boxes. He follows, hands occasionally steadying a stack before I cause them all to collapse.
“Okay,” I say, holding up a pair of black heels. “Thoughts?”
He studies them seriously. “They look painful.”
I stare at him.
He clears his throat. “They’re nice.”
“You have to do better than that.”
“They’re elegant.”
“You just said that because they’re black.”
“Yes.”
I grin. “Good start.”
I sit down and slip one on. He crouches, instinctively reaching to steady my ankle when I wobble.
The contact makes my stomach flip, which is strange considering it’s a simple touch and I’ve been spread-eagle in front of this man.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I say, suddenly very aware that he’s eye-level with my legs.
He stands slowly. “They suit you.”
I walk a few steps, turn, then kick them off and reach for another box.
“Those are taller,” he says.
“Observant.”
“Are you trying to injure yourself?”
“I am trying to look incredible.”
“You always look incredible.”
I feel heat creep up my neck.
“Careful, Doc,” I mutter. “You’re getting soft.”
He flashes me a crooked smile as he leans against the wall, just watching me try on shoe after shoe.
Thirty minutes later, there are six boxes open around me. Beckett is holding two handbags because they caught my eye. He hasn’t complained once.
I stand in a pair of deep red heels.
His expression shifts.
His jaw tightens.
“Those,” he says quietly. “Are a problem.”
My heart does a little jump. “Define problem.”
“We won’t make it to dinner.”
I walk toward him, testing them. “Too much?”
“No.”
“Too bold?”
“No.”
“Too high?”
“Yes.”
I smile. “Perfect.”
He runs a hand over his mouth. “Are you enjoying this?”
“Immensely.”
The assistant reappears with a mirror and asks if we’d like to see them in better light.
Beckett says, “No.”
I say, “Yes.”
We follow her.
There’s a long mirror at the back of the shop. I stand in front of it, turning. He stands behind me, his hands in his pockets.
I meet his eyes in the mirror. “You really want to take me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“Like outside, where other humans can see?”
“Yes, Madison.”
I swallow.
The assistant clears her throat. I forgot she was standing there. “So, are we going with these?”
Beckett doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, and the black pair.”
Ah, I was hoping he’d say that.
At the register, I instinctively reach for my card. His hand gently pushes it back down.
“Madison,” he warns.
I sigh. “Shit. Sorry. I am not a kept woman.”
He cocks a brow that makes me believe he’s still picturing me in those red heels.
I don’t speak again until he’s paid and we’re outside, heading toward his car.
“You realize,” I say, “that this is how it starts.”
“How what starts?”
“Me expecting things.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes. You don’t get to tell a woman she’s high-maintenance and then act surprised when she has standards,” he continues, taking my hand. “We’re going to dinner. You’re wearing those. God help me.”
I look down at our hands again.
If this is what maintenance looks like, I might have been undercharging.
∞∞∞
I have nothing to wear.
This is ridiculous because I own clothes. Good clothes. Date-worthy clothes. But none of them feel right with the red heels currently sitting on my rug.
Emmy is sprawled across my bed, and Celeste is sitting cross-legged beside her.
“Madi,” Emmy says patiently, “the black dress was amazing on you.”
“I’ve already worn it,” I argue from inside my wardrobe.
Celeste tilts her head. “Once. You’ve worn it once.”
I shimmy into something else and step out.
Both of them stare.
Celeste lifts one brow. “That’s not it.”
I look down. “Why not?”
“It looks like you’re going to a networking event,” Emmy says gently.
“I might network,” I mutter, retreating back into the closet.
This is a familiar scene—the three of us in my room as I prepare for a date.
So why the hell are my palms sweaty?
“You’re nervous,” Celeste says.
I freeze mid-zip.
“He bought me shoes,” I reply, as if that explains everything.
Emmy and Celeste exchange a look.
I walk back out in a silk top and trousers. “I’m doing everything to scare him, but I’m realizing Beckett doesn’t scare easily. God, I’m sweating. What is wrong with me?”
They go quiet.
That’s never good.
I stop pacing and stare at them. “What?”
Emmy sits upright. “I’ve never seen you like this about anyone before.”
“And?”
Celeste and Emmy look at each other.
No. Absolutely not.
“I think you might be fall—”
I point at Emmy so fast she physically recoils. “Don’t you dare say it.”
Celeste leans forward. “Would it be so bad?”
“Yes,” I snap. “It would be terrible.”
They both blink.
“He’s amazing,” I continue, my voice rising. “Which is the problem. Because shit will eventually hit the fan in my life, and he’ll bolt. He’s fast. God knows he’s been training long enough.”
Emmy presses her lips together to stop herself laughing.
Celeste doesn’t smile.
“Don’t you think,” Celeste says carefully, “that your worrying about him leaving tells you everything you need to know?”
My heart starts pounding harder.
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out because she’s not wrong.
And I hate that she’s not wrong.
My chest feels tight. My thoughts start moving too quickly.
Oh.
Oh no.
I sag back against the wall and whisper, “Oh shit.”
They explode into action.
Emmy suddenly appears in front of me, hands on my shoulders. “Okay. First of all, breathe.”
Celeste is grabbing a dress off the chair. “Second of all, this is good.”
“It doesn’t feel good,” I mutter.
“Not everything ends badly.”
Emmy nods. “You don’t get to pre-ruin something because you’re scared.”
They’re both looking at me like I’m fragile, which I don’t appreciate.
“I am not fragile,” I inform them.
“No,” Emmy agrees. “You’re just human.”
Celeste thrusts the black dress into my hands. “Put it on.”
“I’ve already worn it.”
“Put it on.”
I obey because I don’t trust myself to make decisions.
It slides into place like it always does. It’s simple, but the red heels will do the talking.
“There,” Emmy says. “You look incredible.”
There’s a knock at the front door.
All three of us freeze.
My room looks like a bomb went off. There are clothes everywhere and hangers on the floor.
“Leave it,” Celeste says. “We’ll tidy up.”
“I can’t just—”
“Go,” Emmy orders.
I grab my coat, slide my feet into the red heels, and pick up my bag.
I should have taken a second to prepare myself before I opened the door. I should have taken a breath.
Sweet Jesus.
Beckett is wearing dark slacks and a crisp shirt with the sleeves rolled up, because of course they are.
His expression shifts the second he sees me. His eyes drop to my shoes and slowly travel up my legs to my waist, my shoulders, and then finally meet mine.
The look on his face isn’t helping my heart rate.
“Hi, neighbor,” he says. “You’re beautiful.”
My throat is dry. “Thanks, Doc.”
He steps closer until all I feel is the heat from his body.
His gaze dips once more. “Those are worse than I remembered.”
I swallow. “You insisted.”
He extends his hand toward me. “Let me get you out of here while I still have the strength.”
I slide my hand into his.
Behind me, Emmy whispers, “Don’t ruin it!”
Celeste hisses, “Shut up!”
I blow them both a kiss before I step out and pull the door closed behind me.
My heart is still racing from the conversation in my bedroom.
From him.
He glances down at me as we walk toward his car. “You okay?”
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
“I’m fine. Just making sure you’re prepared.”
“For?”
I look at him. “For maintenance.”