To Brooklyn, With Love (Completed) - Finding You Book 2

Brooklyn

"Breathe, Brook," Harrison says, reaching across the car to set his hand on mine atop my knee. "When I asked you to come up with excuses for us to leave early, I didn't mean stop breathing," he teases.

His smile is so wide and bright, I can't help but return it. I hope I look less nervous than I feel; my head is spinning with at least a dozen reasons why I probably should have turned him down, but the biggest part of me is glad I didn't.

His hand is warm on top of mine and it feels so nice I don't ask him to move it. We sit this way until we pull in front of an old, beautiful building.

If I thought I had butterflies before, I was wrong.

I spent two hours in front of the mirror, pleading with myself not to change my mind. I talk myself into and out of a lot of things, but I'm really glad coming with him tonight wasn't one of them. I may have spent much time with him, but Harrison is one of the first people in a long time that didn't make me feel like my worth is less than his. I can't begin to explain what that means.

"Brook," he says quietly as he squeezes my hand. I'm not sure anyone has ever been this gentle with me, and I don't know what to do with it. It's almost like he's just waiting for me to say tonight is a mistake and I want to go home.

Instead, I smile. I may be nervous as hell, but this is where I want to be.

"I know I begged you to do this, but you're looking kind of sick," he frowns gently.

"I'm good," I tell him with a smile. "I swear," I raise my free hand up to cross my heart with my index finger and his lips turn up in a relieved smile.

"Good," he says, releasing my hand to pop open his door. He leaves the key in the ignition for the valet, and steps around to open my door.

I'm not used to this. My heart pounds with excitement as he reaches out his hand to help me out of the car.

He's definitely dressed the part tonight in a gorgeous, light grey tuxedo. His light blue bowtie matches his eyes, and I'd bet every last dollar I have that his shiny brown shoes are Italian leather.

When I stand, gently pushing my hair off one of my shoulders.

This affection is surprising at first, but then I remember he just spent the last hour giving me the rundown on his entire family because I agreed to pretend we've been seeing each other for a month.

Why? Because I'd do just about anything to be someone else for a day.

What's in it for me? Possibly more than I could ever say out loud. I want to know him. I want to know more about him, but I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't also still completely stressed out about his sweet little girl and the insane resemblance to somebody I knew for but a few blinks of the eye. I'm wrong. I'm crazy. I have to be.

"Ready?" he asks softly.

"Absolutely," I say. "Unless you aren't," I arch an eyebrow.

"I'll never be ready," he says and his smile fades and he shrugs. "But you're making it a whole lot more tolerable," he whispers. I wish I could say I know he's kidding, but his tone tells me everything. This is the last place he wants to be.

"Three hours tops," he says seriously. "We smile. Shake a few hands. Sip a few drinks. I say a shit-ton of buzz words in front of the crowd. We eat. We leave,"

"And you said you aren't a planner," I tease and his eyes brighten.

"I'm great at exit plans," he clarifies, tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear when the wind picks up. "I guess it's now or never," he says, holding his arm out for me to take as we walk up the steps.