Rush

“If I liked cupcakes, I might be tempted to check it out.”

I circle a finger over a small spot burned into the tabletop. “Trying one of their cupcakes might make you realize you like them.”

“Cupcakes happen to be my last resort dessert.”

I laugh under my breath. “What?”

His hand sweeps a path in the air over our table. “If you put a dozen desserts on this table, a cupcake would be the last I’d sample.”

Smoothing a hand over the front of my blouse, I tilt my head. “You have no idea what you’re missing out on, Case.”

His gaze follows the path of my hand. “I can’t argue with that.”

Chapter 19

Emma

The ring of his phone took Case to his feet five minutes ago. He mumbled that it was Maya and that he had to take it.

I watched him talk as he stood near the entrance to the restaurant. He stepped aside when a man and his daughter came rushing in, soaked from the sudden short thunderstorm that bore down on the city.

I glance away, not wanting Case to think that I’m studying every move he makes, even though I am.

He has to be one of the most handsome men in Manhattan.

I reach for my phone to fill the gap until Case comes back. Opening my message app, I see a text from Sandy.

Sandy: I picked up your mail. I can report nothing exciting arrived other than a coupon for a cut and color at the salon you swore you’d never go to again.

Grinning, I type a response.

Emma: Remember how short my bangs were after that? What was that nickname you gave me?

Her reply is instant.

Sandy: Baby bangs. Why don’t I still call you that?

I feather my fingertips over my forehead.

Emma: Because I haven’t had bangs in three years.

I let out a giggle because I know Sandy has to be doing the same.

Sandy: That’s a technicality, baby bangs.

“I take it you’re not texting your brother.”

I look up to find Case standing next to me, his gaze pinned to the screen of my phone.

I set it back on the table. “Why would you say that?”

He settles back into his chair. “You were having a good time.”

I laugh that off. “I have a good time when I text Drake.”

“You’ve been pissed with him,” he accuses with a smile. “He ran off to get married without saying a word to you.”

That stings because it’s ground in truth. I skip around the subject of my brother because I don’t want Case repeating anything to Drake that I say in spite. “I was texting a friend back home. She reminded me of the nickname she used to call me that I hated.”

“Let me guess what that was.”

My eyebrows dart up. How does he think he can guess something that personal? We barely know each other. “Guess.”

“Freckles.”

That lures my hand to my nose. I thought I put on enough foundation to cover my freckles. My mom may see them as adorable, but I’m not a toddler anymore. They were cute at one time. Now, they’re a reminder of the bunch of bullies I went to middle school with.

Girls can be cruel to other girls. It’s one of the reasons I became a teacher.

“No,” I say quietly. “Not Freckles.”

“You try to hide your freckles, but I like them.”

I lock eyes with him. “You do?”

He studies me, tilting his head up slightly. “They’re a unique part of you.”

Running a finger over the bridge of my nose, I bite back a smile. “I guess they are.”

“Was your nickname small fry or maybe shorty?”

Shaking my head, I finally grin. “I’m five foot two. That’s not short.”

His eyes widen. “Tell me the nickname, Emma.”

I have no idea why this is important to him, but I oblige. “Baby bangs.”

“I don’t see it.”

I laugh. “Thankfully.”

We settle into a quiet moment with both of us sipping our wine. It’s interrupted by the buzz of Case’s phone.

His gaze drops to it momentarily. “It’s your brother. He’s wondering how you’re doing, Freckles.”

I cover my mouth with my hand but smile. “You didn’t just call me that.”

“Oh, I did.” He punctuates his words with a swift nod. “And you liked it.”

I ignore that because he’s right. “Have you ever had a nickname?”

“Me?” He darts a finger into the middle of his chest. “What do you think?”

All I know is that Drake calls him Case. I’ve never heard him use a nickname for his best friend.

“You tell me,” I challenge.

He looks me over. “I could say no.”

“But that wouldn’t be the honest answer, would it?” I bite my lip, studying his handsome face. “Everyone has at least one nickname in their lifetime whether they want to admit it or not.”

That statement isn’t based on any actual facts. I’m speaking from experience working with kids. Most, if not all, of the children I’ve come in contact with through work have had a nickname or two bestowed on them by their parents or a best friend.