“Uh…” Yeah. He had nothing to say to that. He held his hand out politely. “I’m Benjamin Gale the third. And you are…?”

“The third, huh? Wow. So official sounding,” the woman said, laughing lightly and shaking his hand before letting go. She picked up her purse and smiled. “I’m Becca Marigold, the first, and I was just leaving for my own date. Maggie’s in her room finishing up, so she’ll be out in a minute.”

He bowed and moved out of her way, still holding the flowers to his chest. “It was lovely meeting you, Ms. Marigold.”

“Likewise,” she said drily. “Good call on the flowers. She hates roses.”

He glanced down at them. Damn, he’d really screwed up on that first date. Wrong restaurant. Wrong flowers. Wrong everything. It was a miracle she’d agreed to give him a second chance, and it only went to show how incredible she was, and that he didn’t deserve her. “Thanks.”

After shooting him one last look, the woman let the door close behind her.

He was alone in Maggie’s living room. Glancing around, he swallowed hard. The whole place, while clean, was best described as organized chaos. Pillows lay askew on the couch, and she had books and magazines strewn all over the place in no semblance of order. There were empty mugs sitting on the coffee table, and a few blankets tossed here and there.

His fingers twitched. “Maggie? I’m here.”

“I’ll be out in a second. Make yourself comfortable,” she called out.

He eyed the sofa and took a deep breath. When the door opened and she came out, he was sitting on the couch with the flowers resting on his thighs. The second he saw her, all thought fled. She walked into the room in a red dress that clung to her every curve. It had beaded lace overlaying the material underneath, and her long brown hair fell around her bare shoulders in soft, gentle waves.

Her red lips matched her dress, and she clutched a small black purse in front of her. Her white knuckles betrayed her nerves, and he wanted to kiss her so much it hurt him not to do so. Not trusting himself to speak, he examined her and tried to find logical words to say. He failed horribly.

She was too beautiful for mere words.

Shifting on her feet, she nibbled on her lip. “Are you going to say something? Anything? Will I pass for your impoverished fiancée?”

“Yes—” His voice croaked, so he cleared his throat and stood awkwardly, still not able to look away. He’d never seen anyone more stunning than her, and never would. Of that he was sure. “Yes. You…you look exquisite.”

“Thank you.” She relaxed slightly and her knuckles went a little less white on her clutch. “Are those for me?”

“Is what for you?”

Her lips twitched. “The flowers in your hands.”

“Oh.” Surprised, he glanced down. They’d slipped his mind the second she stepped into the room. What the hell did flowers matter when Maggie was there, smiling at him and looking as if she came straight out of a dream? “Yes, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, her smile widening. Those freckles of hers danced, making her all the more delectable. She took the bouquet from him and lifted them to her nose. Inhaling deeply, hugged them to her chest. “Snowbells. Good guess—I love these.”

“I didn’t guess.” He’d never been so jealous of flowers in his life. “You told me you liked them last week.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “You remembered?”

“Well, yeah.” He scratched the back of his head and shrugged. “I told you I’d try to do bett—oof.”

Before he could finish, she’d tossed the flowers onto the couch and threw herself at him. He stumbled back a step before catching himself and closing his arms around her. He had no clue what he did to get such a reward, but he rested his cheek on her head and enjoyed it anyway. When she hugged him close, something deep within him warmed.

Something he didn’t recognize…or want to recognize.

And when she pulled back, ending the hug way too quickly, he was almost relieved because those unfamiliar emotions freaked him out. He tightened his hold on her hips, torn between wanting to pull her back into his arms or to push her away. That had been the first time she’d touched him intimately—because, hell yes, a hug like that was intimate in his book—of her own accord, and not part of their deception.

“What was that for?”

She smiled up at him. “The flowers.”

Ah. The flowers. Not just the act of flowers, since he’d done that before and she couldn’t have cared less, but the type he’d gotten. Well, hell, if he got a hug every time he did something thoughtful for her, he’d do it all the damn time.

He was all about rewards. Especially when it came to Maggie.

A stray piece of hair fell across her face, so he pushed it away from her cheek gently, staring into her eyes as he did so. It might be cliché, but damned if he couldn’t get lost in those swirling blue-grey depths for hours if she let him. “You’re welcome.”

Moving out of his arms, she picked the flowers up and walked across the room. Halfway there, she stopped and glanced back at the couch with a frown. “Did you…did you straighten up in here? The pillows…and the coffee mugs…and where are my shoes?”

Shit.

She’d noticed.

“Well…I…” He eyed the neatened couch nervously, and the shoes he’d set by the door. He hadn’t meant to do it, it had just sort of happened. “Uh…you did say to make myself at home.”

She laughed, the musical sound washing over him. “I did, didn’t I? It’s cool. I don’t care if you need to make my couch pretty to sit on it, Benji.”

It’s not that he needed to. It’s that for his whole life, he’d had his mother telling him that he had to put on his best face, and never let anyone see him in anything but perfect order. That had stuck with him and made him the man he was today. One that liked order instead of chaos. But he didn’t say any of that.

Why would he?

So he just tugged on his bowtie and checked the time. “Once you’re ready, we need to go.”

“Okay, just give me a second,” she called out from the kitchen. “I’ll be right out.”

He grabbed her jacket off the chair where she’d thrown it, straightened the pillow, and waited by the door. When she came out, the oxygen disappeared from the room all over again. Something of what he felt must have shown on his face, because she paused mid-step. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just… You look absolutely gorgeous.” He swallowed, but it was harder than it should have been. “You’ll be the prettiest woman there, inside and out.”

“Thanks. But I’m seriously unqualified to be going to this event.”

“Bullshit. You don’t ever have to be nervous walking into a room full of stuck-up snobs, because you’re better than all of them combined.” He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, toe-to-toe. “You’re too good for me. So thank you for doing this.”

She licked her red lips, her cheeks almost matching her lipstick. “I’m not too good for you, Benji.”

He didn’t meet her eyes. “Yes. You are.” He skimmed his knuckles over the soft skin of her arm, watching with fascination as goose bumps rose where he touched. An answering desire crashed through him. “But the fact that you don’t realize that? It’s what makes you so damn special.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared at him.

The pull between the two of them was overwhelming, and it took every single damn ounce of his self-control not to kiss her. If he broke down and did it, he wouldn’t be able to stop. And he’d promised to take things slow, as friends—like the dumb-ass he was.

When he didn’t lean in and close the distance between them, he swore he saw a flash of disappointment run across her expression. Though maybe that was wishful thinking on his part because, damn it, he wished she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

“We should go,” she said softly. Turning her back to him, she peeked over her shoulder. He didn’t move, just clutched her jacket tightly. “Benjamin?”