Page 93 of The Merger

“I could’ve been anyone, Carys.”

I roll my eyes and grab my purse. “Except, you weren’t. You said you were five minutes out, so I unlocked the door and raced in here to finish getting ready because someone keeps reminding me that we don’t have time to waste.”

He laces our fingers together and steps back, his gaze traveling the length of my body.

“You are literal perfection,” he says softly.

I laugh, blushing. “Stop it.”

His eyes lift to mine. “I’m afraid I can’t. Here.” He hands me the beautiful bouquet. “These are for you.”

“Peonies. I love them, Gannon.” My heart swells. “How did you have time to get me flowers?”

“I get done what needs to get done.”

I study his beautiful brown eyes and the emotions swimming in them. He’s nervous, I think, that I won’t like the flowers—which is silly. They’re gorgeous. But, most of all, I’m gobsmacked that he prioritized getting me flowers.

Who does that?

A ghost of a shy smile slips across his lips.

Gannon. Gannon does that.

“I love these,” I say softly. “It means a lot to me that you did this. Thank you.”

His smile grows. “You’re welcome. Now, we need to go.”

“Let me get these in water. I’ll be fast.”

I quickly find a vase and arrange the flowers. Gannon leans on the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, observing me quietly. Having him in my space is comfortable, maybe because he’s been here once before. I’m not sure. I only know that it feels nice.

Once I’m finished, he leads me through the house and waits patiently on the porch as I lock up. Then he takes my hand as we walk toward a large SUV at the end of the walkway leading to the road.

“This isn’t the vehicle you usually drive,” I say, distinctly remembering the car he drove me home in from Courtney’s was smaller.

“I had work to do from the airport home, and from home to here. So Gray is driving, and I’ve been working from the back seat.”

“Oh, I like Gray,” I say, waiting as Gannon opens the back door. “He saved me from drowning in a river once.”

Gannon’s eyes darken. “Is that so?”

“I was tubing with Tate and some of our friends. Thank God that Gray was on Tate’s security detail that weekend. Otherwise, I would’ve been fish food. Callum would’ve probably watched me drown.”

As I climb inside our ride, he mumbles something I can’t make out.

“Good evening, Gray,” I say as I snap my buckle.

He nods, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Good evening, Miss Johnson.”

Gannon climbs in, moves a stack of papers into the third row, and then gets situated.

We ride quietly for a few miles with soft classical music playing through the speakers. His shoulders are tight and his jaw flexes back and forth.Something is bothering him.

“Hey, are you all right?” I ask, squeezing one of his fingers.

He nods, turning to me. “I don’t know why I agreed to do this damn thing.”

“Why did you?”