Just the thought of it made her hands tremble, and she rushed to the sink in case she vomited. As she was breathing away her nausea, Kh?i stepped into the bathroom, looking like a secret service bodyguard in his black tuxedo.
“I can’t stand these things.” He twisted the ends of the bow tie around, looped them, and dropped his hands in exasperation.
“I know how.” Glad for the distraction, she undid the mess he’d made and calmly tied his bow tie for him. “All done.”
“Thank you,” he said as he shook out his arms and took a breath like he was preparing himself for battle.
She smiled and smoothed her hands down his lapels, pleased by how he looked in the well-fitted suit. “You’re wel—It’s not here.” She pressed her palms to the area where she thought his inner coat pockets were.
His forehead wrinkled. “What isn’t?”
“The book you always bring.”
He searched her face. “Are you telling me to bring one?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Well, if you want.” She shrugged. She’d much rather he talk to her, especially tonight when she was so nervous, but if he truly hated weddings that much, she didn’t want to torture him.
He smiled. “Come on, then. It’s an hour to Santa Cruz, and I don’t want to be late.”
She followed him out of the house and down the driveway to the curb, where he parked his car. Instead of getting in right away, Kh?i scowled at the white splats decorating the roof and windshield.
“This is statistically unlikely. It’s not like I park under a tree,” he said.
Esme’s lips wanted to smirk, and she kept them straight with effort. “The birds are telling you to park in the garage. There’s room in there. Just move the motorcycle to the side.”
Then she bit the inside of her lip. Things had gotten so easy between them she’d forgotten this was a sore topic. Her stomach tensed as she watched him, not knowing how he’d react. Would he get angry like the day she’d gone to 99 Ranch?
After a brief pause, he said, “I don’t like parking in the garage.”
“Why?”
He blinked, and his face creased in thought. “Why?”
“What is the reason?” she asked, because it didn’t make any sense to her.
“Because the motorcycle’s in there,” he said in a clipped voice before he went to open the passenger door for her.
Esme got into the car and watched as he shut her door, walked around to the other side, and lowered himself into his seat. He started the car and pulled onto the street like the conversation was finished. But it wasn’t.
“If you don’t like the motorcycle, why do you—”
“I didn’t say I don’t like it,” he said.
She exhaled a tight breath, even more confused now. “Then why—”
He glanced at her for a quick second before he returned his attention to the road, shifted gears, and sped past a convertible. “That’s just how I like things. It’s like you and … Why do you roll socks that way?”
She looked down and spun the sparkly bracelet on her wrist. “You kept ignoring me. I did it to make you think of me.”
“So you don’t roll yours that way?”
“No,” she said with a laugh.
He tilted his head to the side. “It worked.”
She grinned. “I know.”
Even though he didn’t turn to look at her, his lips curved as he continued driving, and a comfortable silence followed. She watched the office buildings as they passed by, awed by their shiny exteriors and manicured lawns.