Page 20 of Living for Truth (Broken Shelves #2)

Hannah

I woke up this morning to a “Happy Birthday” banner and my favorite breakfast of baked french toast and perfectly crisp bacon smothered in vanilla syrup. Breakfast was silent and awkward with Jake filling most of the silence with talk of his end-of-school-year projects.

When I got to work, Sage had my favorite cheese pretzel and dirty chai latte from the German bakery a few blocks over. She gifted them to me along with a gift card for a size-inclusive lingerie store.

“Ya know, in case you need to buy something sexy for a date with Morgan,” she explained with the most deceptively innocent expression when I looked at her confused.

Considering I haven’t bought nor worn regular underwear in almost a decade, I wouldn’t even know where to begin with lingerie. I’m fine in my church issued garments because they’re familiar and easier than trying to buy new underwear. I know I’ll need to get normal underwear eventually, though.

After saying thank you, I started my day.

Now I’m shelving books with the gift card burning a hole inside my purse. My mind floats to images of me buying a bold red set, and Morgan slowly peeling away my clothes to reveal the delicate lace underneath.

What would he think of the lingerie? Would he like my body in the lace? Or would he want to tear it away and just get down to business?

Something tells me he’d want to go slow. He’d want to take his time and—

Why am I thinking about this?

I look around to see I’m alone, thank goodness. I wipe my hands on my clothes to dry the clamminess, willing the heat in my cheeks to cool down.

When I get home, I change out of my sensible black work pants and plain white collared shirt with a brown sweater vest and into a dress I bought as a birthday gift to myself. Blue with a square neckline, fluttery sleeves, and hitting just above my knees.

As I examine myself in the mirror, my mind automatically wonders what Morgan is going to think.

As if he’s been summoned, he texts me.

Morgan: What colors are you wearing?

Hannah: Um, blue?

Morgan: What shade?

Hannah: …cerulean?

Morgan: Perfect. I’ll see you there.

Hannah: See you soon.

Confused, I touch up my makeup and head upstairs to meet my parents and Jake.

My mom comes out of her room and frowns when she sees my dress. “Are you wearing garments?”

I self consciously tug at the hem of the dress, even though I quadruple checked that it would cover the godforsaken article of clothing. “Yes.”

“Did you roll them up? You know that’s not allowed.” Mom scowls, but before she can further her lecture, Jake runs up the stairs, and my dad emerges from his office.

“Alright, let’s get going so I can get home before the start of the baseball game,” my dad grumbles, heading straight for the garage.

I’m this close to telling them we don’t need to go at all if it’s such an inconvenience. I’d rather go to dinner with just Morgan, anyway.

But that would cause more problems, so I keep my mouth shut and slide into the backseat of my dad’s brand new, black SUV.

The drive to Hughes is silent, except for the radio playing some sort of talk radio station that my dad’s obsessed with.

When we arrive, I see Morgan’s already parked. As he sees us exit the car, he climbs out of his and walks over carrying a bouquet of flowers and a small pink box.

I told him no gifts!

“Happy birthday, Han.” He grins, wrapping me in a bear hug. He smells really good, like the flower shop mixed with something spicy, but I can’t really determine the exact smell.

“Thank you, Morgan.” I pull back and notice he has on a white button up with little blue flowers on it that match my dress perfectly.

He looks so good.

“Mr. and Mrs. Layton, it’s good to see you again.” He nods at my parents, then extends his hand to Jake. “Hey man, I’m Morgan. You must be Jake. Nice to meet you.”

Jake, ever the people-person, takes his hand enthusiastically. “Nice to meet you too.”

Then, Morgan’s attention is back on me. “I know you said no gifts, but I couldn’t help it.” He holds out the bouquet of red carnations mixed with sunflowers and a small light purple flower I don’t recognize. I wouldn’t think the colors would mesh well, but they look stunning.

Morgan hands over the small box, so I pass the bouquet to my mom who looks like she’s smelled something bad. She’s probably upset he didn’t give me roses or something “fancier.”

Morgan looks like a little kid on Christmas, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he watches me pull the silky ribbon bow apart. I give it to Morgan, who puts it in his pocket, then carefully open the box. I gasp when I see the peach colored crystal butterfly nestled in the cotton.

My eyes find Morgan’s. “You remembered?”

If I’m not mistaken, the tips of his ears turn a little pink. “Of course I did. That was the first time we met, and I remember every moment. Can I help you put it on?”

Stunned, I simply nod and hand him the delicate gold chain. I turn around and hold my hair up as best I can while he slips the necklace around my neck, and his surprisingly nimble fingers clasp it behind me.

I pretend the slight touch of his fingers doesn’t leave goosebumps on my arms. I disregard the fluttering in my stomach and the way the world seems to condense into this two-foot square where only we exist. I ignore the fact that my heart is already too invested in this thing between us even though it’s only been a few weeks, and it’s supposed to be fake.

Nothing about this moment feels fake.

“We’re going to be late for our reservation,” my mom snaps, turning on her heel and striding towards the restaurant, still gripping my bouquet.

Jake and my dad fall into step with her, and Morgan places his hand on my lower back as we follow them.

I forgot we’d actually have to interact with my parents, and now my stomach isn’t fluttering with twitterpated butterflies but anxiety.

I want to believe my mom won’t use this as an interrogation, but I’m not holding out hope.

My dad will only want to talk football, and Jake will give input where he deems necessary.

When we get inside the waiting area of the restaurant, it’s pretty cramped, so we all have to stand relatively close together. Morgan is squeezed flush against my back.

He leans down and whispers quietly so only I can hear, “You look absolutely stunning, Butterfly.”

“Thank you. You look pretty great yourself. And thank you so much for the flowers and the necklace. I love it.” It’s the first piece of jewelry I’ve been gifted that I actually like. Even my engagement ring from Liam wasn’t my taste, but I didn't want to seem ungrateful.

“I knew at the shop it was meant to be yours. I’m just glad I finally had a sensible reason to give it to you.”

Before I can ask what he means by “sensible reason” the hostess is calling for our party and leading us to a table in the back of the restaurant.

We sit and the waitress takes our drink orders. Then my mom clears her throat, folds her hands in front of her, and to my horror, asks, “So, Morgan, why are you a single dad?”