Lizzie Blake's Best Mistake (A Brush with Love, #2)(43)

The flight had been long and grueling, the line to get through customs and security even longer. Lizzie had offered to come get him in Indira’s car, which they were using to move their stuff to the new apartment, but Rake decided it would be easier for her to focus on getting herself organized and they’d meet at her place.

The car pulled up to the curb, and Rake hopped out, grabbing his two large suitcases from the trunk and giving the driver a quick thanks.

Packing had been laughably easy. He’d been able to fit most of his wardrobe into one suitcase, using the other for some work things, a few books, and other odds and ends like sheets and towels. He had sold or donated everything else, wondering if his lack of attachment or sentimental value to anything in his old place meant he was emotionally evolved or just really fucking sad.

Double-checking the address, Rake punched in the door code Lizzie had texted him, then let himself into the building and up the elevator to her floor.

When the flight had taken off and Rake stared down at his disappearing country, he’d felt something close to … well, something kind of close to excitement, at seeing Lizzie again. Which was bizarre, and he shook it off as stress at the time. But now, as he knocked on her door, all he felt was a bone-deep tiredness and an exceptionally strong desire to get all of this done with quickly so he could fall asleep for the next forty-eight hours.

The door swung open, and for a moment, Rake’s heart sparked in preparation for Lizzie’s brilliant smile, the brick wall of energy that always seemed to crash into him when he laid his eyes on her.

All very normal, emotionally distant physical responses that he was sure he only felt because she was carrying their child.

But instead, Lizzie looked frazzled and pale, a clumped mix of sweat and what looked like flour streaked across her forehead, while alarming splotches of red decorated her giant T-shirt.

“What’s wrong?” Rake said instantly, cutting off her start at a greeting.

Her head shot back. “Well, hello to you too, handsome. Nothing’s wrong. Why?”

“You look—”

Lizzie laughed and held up a menacing finger. “If you want to live to see our new apartment, I beg you not to finish that statement.”

Rake snapped his mouth shut.

“I spent the night puking,” Lizzie said, moving aside to let him in. “Midnight sickness or whatever you want to call it. And then I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I’ve been in the kitchen since about four,” she added, taking a step into the bathroom off the hall and flicking on the lights.

Lizzie let out a gasp. “Oh shit!”

“What’s wrong?” Rake asked again, moving to the door to check on her.

“I do look bad,” she said with a grin, pointing at her face. Thick smears of mascara hugged the bottom of her red-rimmed eyes, her hair sat like a rickety bird’s nest on top of her head.

“You look … good,” Rake lied, and Lizzie let out a booming laugh.

“I look ridiculous, you ass.” She grabbed a cotton swab and scrubbed at the mascara stains. “How was the flight?”

“Fine,” Rake answered, an odd sense of concern kicking at a spot on the left side of his chest. “Have you talked to a doctor about how often you get sick?”

Rake shrugged when she shot him a wry smile in the mirror.

“They say it’s all normal. It’s actually been getting a lot better. It doesn’t even happen every day anymore,” Lizzie said. “Last night just happened to be one of the not-so-good days.”

Rake nodded as he watched her, inexplicably fascinated as she did seemingly mundane things. She cupped her hands under the faucet and splashed water on her cheeks, soaking the counter, then dried her face with a towel. She ripped her hair out of its knot and tore a brush through it a few times before flipping her head over and bundling the locks back into another crooked bun. All of it was enthralling and Rake couldn’t figure out why.

“So that’s all you have to say about the flight? Fine?” she asked as she pulled her contacts out of her eyes. “Did they feed you? What drink did you get? I always get Sprite. Did you sit next to anyone interesting?”

Rake was about to give the barest of answers when she did something that made all conversation stop in his throat.

As Lizzie flicked off the lights and joined Rake in the hall, she slipped on a pair of glasses.

Huge, round glasses with electric blue frames. She blinked up at him, the thick lenses magnifying her eyes to look twice as big, and Rake worked to hide his smile, pressing his lips firmly together.

She looked so damn adorable, his bones felt like they would break from it.

Or that was probably just the exhaustion talking. He didn’t actually feel that.

Lizzie’s eyes narrowed to zoomed-in slits. “Are you laughing at me?” she said, pushing the giant spectacles farther up her nose, then crossing her eyes.

“No!” Rake said, trying to hide a laugh with a cough.

“Yes, you are! You’re laughing at my glasses,” she said with mock outrage, punching him on the shoulder.

“I’m not! I just didn’t know you needed them.”

“Yeah, I’m blind as an infant baby mole rat,” she said, tucking her lips against her teeth and giving him a goofy grin.

She was so weird.

“They’re … nice,” Rake teased, eliciting a smile from her.