Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(12)

But looking down at Elise’s hand on his arm, their first skin-to-skin contact, he couldn’t find any bitterness in his heart. He felt nothing but gratitude for her kindness, his heart thundering its approval for her solidarity and hope, and for the soft, warm touch of her fingers on his skin.

He looked down at her upturned face, his blood racing through his body, pounding between his ears.

“You’re stunning,” he whispered.

She’d been frowning with indignation at his self-deprecation, but softened immediately, her eyes widening and her lips tilting up into a sweet smile.

“Thank you.”

She looked down at her hand, and he felt the slight pressure of her fingers squeezing before she pulled it away. And he was left. Missing her.

Glancing up, he realized she’d stopped them beside a deli. “Wait here a second, okay? Don’t go anywhere!”

He rushed into the deli, choosing a large bouquet of light pink roses and placing a twenty dollar bill on the counter before rushing back outside. Elise stood where he’d left her on the sidewalk, her eyes expectant. He pulled the flowers from behind his back and offered them to her with a grin.

“You said no to champagne and coffee. But you can’t say no to flowers.”

“No,” she said, her smile faltering as her lips parted and she reached for the blooms. “I can’t. They’re so lovely.”

She raised the bouquet to her nose, eyes closing as she inhaled deeply and sighed. When she opened her eyes, they were sparkling as they had when Donny Durran handed her his business card, and Preston felt his chest swell with satisfaction and longing. Such a simple gesture, but it had made her so happy, and suddenly her happiness was like a drug, and Preston wanted more.

“Thank you,” she murmured, that sweet smile fixed on her lips.

Kiss her.

The words repeated in his head on a loop, blocking out all other thoughts, all other sounds and smells and ideas and common sense. Her face was upturned, her full, pink lips slightly parted. They’d be warm and soft beneath his, and his breath hitched with yearning. Taking a step toward her, he dropped his eyes to her lips, staring at them, longing for a taste of them. He was just about to bend his head to hers when—

“Ah-hem. Sir? Your change?”

“Huh?”

“You ran out without your change.”

Preston whipped his eyes to the side, and found the shop owner in a white apron, holding out a dollar bill and a few coins.

“Oh. Yes. Of course, how…how good of you. Thanks.”

He accepted the change, and Elise stepped away from him, pointing her body north again, away from him, and Preston sighed internally, simultaneously frustrated and relieved. Frustrated, because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to kiss a girl so badly. Relieved because for all he knew, she would have smacked his face and run away if he’d taken such a liberty after knowing her for less than an hour.

They started walking again, their pace slower than before as Elise admired her flowers.

“This was really sweet of you.”

“Well, you deserve a little celebration,” he said. “You must be excited for Tuesday.”

“I’m over the moon,” she said. Then, with a full, delighted voice, “You know what? I’m gobsmacked!”

“Well, there’s a good British word,” he said with an English accent. His mother was from London originally, so he’d spent an enormous amount of time there whilst growing up.

“Wow! That’s a really authentic accent!” she exclaimed. “It’s hard to get it that good!”

“My mum is British.”

“Is it just you and her?” asked Elise.

“Nope. Me, and her, and my four siblings.”

“Four!”

“Three brothers and a little sister. You?”

“Big family, too. Four sisters, and I’m the baby.”

“Like Jessica,” he said, thinking of his little sister, who was in college in London. He hadn’t seen her in months, and reminded himself to call her.

“Jessica’s your sister, I assume?”

“Mm-hm. Brooks is the eldest, then me, then Cameron, then Christopher, then Jessica. She’s in London with my mum right now. She’s studying modern art.”

“I approve,” said Elise with an efficient nod. “I love modern art. And your dad?”

“Passed on.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged because he didn’t want to talk about it. “It was a long time ago.”

“Still…”

“And you?” he asked, changing the subject back to her. “One of four sisters!”

“Abigail, Caitlyn, Lillian, and Elise.”

“Little Elise who had big dreams,” he said, nudging her gently with his elbow.

She nudged him back. “Little Elise, who, like little Preston, believed in making her dreams come true.”

“And now look at you! Here you are,” he said, gesturing with wide arms to Manhattan. “On the eve of your triumph!”

“Shhhh!” she hushed him dramatically. “The jinx!”

He lifted an index finger to his lips, trying not to smile.

Shaking her head at him with glee, she stopped walking in the middle of a tree-lined street, leaning against the trunk of a tree across from a brownstone apartment building.