Page 15

Kira

Ihave changed clothes six times, which is humiliating to say the least. I have tattooed bikers who outweighed me by two hundred pounds without blinking, but one dinner with Ross Wilson has me standing in front of my closet like I've never dressed myself before.

Keanu leans against my bedroom doorway. “Black dress.”

“Go away.” I scowl.

“The green one makes you look like you're trying too hard.”

“I said go away.”

“The black one looks like you.” He shrugs. “What? I have eyes.”

I look at the dress. Simple. Soft. Long sleeves. Short enough to show my legs without looking like I'm trying to cause a traffic accident.

“Black?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Black.”

“Thanks.” I draw a breath. He starts to leave, but I place a hand on his arm. “Keanu?” I hold his gaze. “You're not mad?”

“About you dating Ross?" He sighs. “I'd be mad if he treated you badly, but I don't think he will. But if he does,” Keanu adds, “I know where he sleeps.”

“There it is,” I roll my eyes at his threat. "I love you, Keanu."

"I love you, too, Kira."

***

At seven exactly, someone knocks. Of course, Ross is exactly on time. I open the door and his eyes run over my body, taking in the black formfitting dress I'm glad Keanu talked me into wearing tonight. I stare back. He's wearing dark jeans, boots, and a charcoal button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.

“You clean up nice, mountain man.” I say.

His eyes move over me more slowly. “So do you.”

No joke. No grumble. Just that deep voice and a look that makes me feel beautiful. My nerves disappear—mostly. He takes me to a small restaurant overlooking the valley. We talk for two hours. Not flirt. Talk. He tells me about taking over after his parents died. He says he was terrified he would fail his sisters, and that Mountain Grind was his mother's dream. I tell him about art school, opening Temptation Ink with Keanu, and the year I nearly quit because I thought I wasn't good enough.

“You’re good enough.” His answer comes without hesitation.

My throat tightens. “You didn't even hesitate.”

“Why would I?” Ross lifts his chin.

"Because people do. Because confidence is easier to paint on your skin than to feel under it." I look down at my plate, embarrassed by my confession.

He covers my hand with his. “Kira.” I look up. “You're talented. You're brave. You're irritating as hell.” I laugh at his assessment of me. “And you're good enough.” Ross holds my gaze. The words settle somewhere deep—in a place I'm ready to explore.

***

After dinner, we walk through town. At my door, the flirting returns.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks.

“Maybe.” I draw a breath. “Yes.”

He leans down and captures my lips in a heated kiss. “Better.”

“You really are bossy.”