Saturday morning, I stopped by my favorite nail salon. The damage I’d done with the garbage disposal last night was beyond anything I could fix. My cuticles were a wreck, there were cuts on my fingers, and it would take a hell of a lot more than cutting and filing to get my manicure looking good again.

I’d been coming here every week for years, and I considered my nail tech, Crystal, a friend. For nearly a decade, I’d sat in her chair for an hour once a week and talked to her like drunks do to bartenders. She knew everything there was to know about me, including my obsession with changing polish colors throughout the week, and my attempted rendezvouses with pundanda. She thought the whole thing had been rather humorous and enjoyed many chuckles at my expense.

But the panties in the garbage disposal seemed to take the cake.

“What were you thinking, Giselle? What would you have said to Collier if he’d come over?”

It seemed obvious to me. “That I was doing laundry.” I shrugged while she clipped the tips of my pitiful nails off.

“Do you know a lot of women who wash their unmentionables in the kitchen sink? And wash five pairs down at one time?”

“So it wasn’t a well-thought-out plan. Sue me.” My brow furrowed. I’d already faced this humiliation once in the last twenty-four hours—I didn’t need to relive it with the girl I paid to make my hands look like works of art.

I sighed with relief an hour later when my nails had been restored and followed Crystal to the register. I paid for the manicure and also grabbed the six bottles of nail polish I’d come in for. I stopped by Walmart going home and picked up six little gift boxes and cards. One way or another, I’d show Collier he knew me better than anyone else, and hopefully, in the end, I’d win him over.

As much as I hated to include Beck in my plot, I didn’t have much choice. I needed to ensure he got the package each day, and if I sent them any other way, I wouldn’t be certain they made it to his desk or that he opened them.

Me: I need your help.

Beck: Sure. With what?

Me: Getting Collier back.

Beck: I’m in.

Me: You don’t even want to know what you have to do before you agree?

Beck: Nope.

Since she didn’t care about details, I didn’t give them to her. Beck promised to stop by my house tonight to pick the stuff up and deliver them in order starting Monday. I hated wasting a day, but I needed her to give him the sixth one on Saturday. I spent the rest of the night wrapping each little bottle in a corresponding color of tissue paper before tucking it neatly into a box I tied with ribbon. I wrote out a note to go along with each one and tied it to the package. They were cute, and any woman would love to get them—I only hoped Collier saw my message in them.

Monday’s color choice was “You Callin’ Me A Lyre?” He didn’t believe he knew anything about me. I didn’t want to, but I had to acknowledge where he stood and the fact that I’d put him there.

Tuesday was “I Am What I Amethyst.” Whether Collier wanted to believe it or not, I had always been into men.

Wednesday was a nod to our time by the pool, “Just Lanai-ing Around.” There’d been so many casual hours spent getting to know each other. He had to recognize none of that had been a front.

Thursday spoke to how I’d spent my time, “Pinking of You.” It seemed to be all I ever did anymore.

Friday, I hoped he’d see this was possible with “Toucan Do It If You Try.”

And Saturday would lay down the gauntlet and profess more than I’d been willing to say to anyone in years. “GPS I Love You.” And I did. Although I had no idea if he was capable of returning that sentiment.

Beck promised to let me know how he received each one but couldn’t guarantee when she’d be able to get them to him during the day. Waiting on her text Monday was agony.

Beck: Did you really send my brother a bottle of nail polish?

Me: Yep.

Me: Did he say anything?

Beck: He just looked confused. What did the note say?

Me: Just the color of the nail polish. I hope by the end of the week he gets the message. It’s kind of a timeline. Will you let me know how it goes tomorrow?

Beck: Of course.

I didn’t have to wait that long on Tuesday. Beck had gone to work early for a meeting that all the staff were required to attend, so she followed him back to his office afterward and handed him another box that looked just like the one he got the day before.

Beck: Do you want him to open a nail salon? What’s with the second bottle of polish?

Me: Did he think it was stupid?

Beck: He didn’t say anything. He just grinned…and set it next to the bottle you gave him yesterday on his desk.

Me: Is that a good thing?

Beck: Giselle, the man doesn’t keep pictures on his desk, but now has two bottles of insanely girly OPI sitting front and center. I’m going to guess it’s a positive.

Me: Eeep.

Beck: Have you tried to contact him again?

Me: Nope.

Beck: Maybe you should?

Me: I have to wait until Saturday. He’ll have a decision to make with that one. It’s up to him.

Wednesday’s news didn’t come in the form of a text. Beck called me to tell me her co-workers were concerned about the multiple bottles of nail polish her brother kept on his desk. I tried to reassure her there was no cause for concern unless he started using them.

The silence from Collier was bad enough, but when I didn’t hear from Beck all day on Thursday, I started to worry. Maybe he didn’t understand “Pinking of You,” or maybe he was pissed that I’d involved his sister. I was hanging on by a thread that threatened to break at any moment. I had a dream of nail polish bottles all over Collier’s office after years of trying to convince him to give me a chance, one color at a time. Thousands of bottles lined every inch of space, but right before I woke up, Goodwill came to collect them for the needy. Clearly, I was losing my mind.

I’d sent Beck a couple of texts but gave up and went to sleep. Friday, sitting at my desk while watching dust gather on the fake plants in my office, my friend finally resurfaced.

Beck: Work has been hell. Sorry about yesterday.

Me: How’d it go?

Beck: Not all that great. I’m sorry, Giselle. He’s just a jerk.

Me: It’s not your fault. I created this mess.

Beck: Don’t give up. You’re pulling out the big guns tomorrow, right?

Me: Yeah, I guess so.

Beck: What time do you want me to give it to him?

Me: In the morning. That will give him all day to decide what he wants to do.

Beck: No matter what happens, I still love you.

Me: Love you, too, Beck. Thanks for all your help.

I warred with conflicting emotions the remainder of the day, and Saturday was no better. Beck had come by to let me know she gave him the last bottle, but he hadn’t opened it in front of her and had gotten mad when she insisted on it. I hadn’t intended to put her at odds with Collier. Luckily, she wasn’t holding his mood against me. I wanted to sit around and whine and worry all day, but it wasn’t fair to her, so I let her escape unharmed. Each minute that ticked by seemed like an hour, and I started to believe the universe had slowed its spin just to drag this out a little longer.

By the time six o’clock had finally found its way to the face of the clock on my wall, I’d worked myself up into a frenzy of uncertainty. I put on a pair of skinny jeans and a blouse with the shoulders cut out. My belt matched my heels, and I hitched my new purse into the crook of my arm. I wish I felt half as good as I looked, but insecurity had taken root in my gut, and I was a nanosecond away from tossing my stomach on the pavement next to my car. Even a pep talk from Ronnie hadn’t helped ease my anxiety, but at the very least, in less than fifteen minutes, I’d know if I’d lost him forever.

I’d made reservations at Posh, another oddly named establishment in Podunk, USA. The name indicated one thing, while in actuality, the atmosphere was casual—the food was the luxury. I’d left the address on the final card along with a time. I prayed I wouldn’t be dining alone, but I mentally prepared myself for that possibility on the drive over.

I didn’t see Collier’s Porsche when I pulled in and found a place to park, but I was a few minutes early. Sitting in my car didn’t offer the comfort it normally did. I felt like I was being deprived of oxygen, and suffocating was worse than being stood up.

With more confidence than I actually had, I strolled to the front door, stepped inside to the hostess stand, and gave her the name on the reservation. She grinned and ducked down. When she reappeared, she handed me a gift bag no bigger than a cell phone. I eyed her with suspicion, but if she knew anything, she didn’t offer up the information. She also didn’t offer to seat me or ask if I wanted to wait. I took it upon myself to sit on the bench and open the bag. I looked around to see if I was being Punked, but other than the hostess, not a soul paid any attention to me or had even noticed my arrival.

I took several deep breaths, preparing myself for Collier’s epic blow off. No one else knew I was here. And since he hadn’t shown up, I could only assume he’d chosen to part ways. As much as I didn’t want to say goodbye, this had been going on too long, and I needed an answer. There were three sheets of tissue paper popping out of the top of the bag. I pulled each one out separately, folded them neatly in a pile, and finally reached in to pull out the box. The black velvet box teased me. It was too heavy to be jewelry, but I was scared to open the lid. I bit my lip and counted to three. When I finally popped it up, I closed my eyes before I could see what lay inside.

My fingers weren’t quite as hesitant as my eyes. The tips caressed the edge and then dipped inside in search of whatever was nestled there. But it wasn’t metal I felt, it was glass. The lids of my eyes parted slowly, and I dared to peek between them to find a pale-pink bottle of OPI. My stare darted all over the restaurant in search of the gift-giver, but I came up empty-handed.

The hostess caught my eye and indicated for me to turn it over. Of course, the name. “Let Me Bayou A Drink” was stamped on the bottom and under it was a W scrawled in fine, silver Sharpie. I glanced back up to her, and she pointed toward the bar.

There he stood. All I could see was the smile on his face and the way his eyes focused on me.

He’d come.

I tucked the nail polish back into the box, and the box into the bag, and then the bag into my purse. And I made my way to Collier West. My heart swelled, and when I tried to swallow, a lump formed in my throat. A tear clung to my eye, and when I blinked, it ran down my cheek. The instant I was within reach of the man I’d spent so much time thinking about and missed so desperately over the last two weeks, he used his thumb to wipe the evidence of my emotion away.

“Babe.”

That one word from his lips brought the corners of my mouth up in a grin.

“Why are you crying?”

I shook my head, knowing words would be messy until I managed to compose myself. Until the moment I saw him, I wasn’t sure he’d even come, much less in good spirits. I knew there would be questions—this wouldn’t fix itself just because I’d sent him some nail polish and he’d met me for dinner. But God, I was glad he was here.

Craning my neck to stare into the eyes I loved so much, I wanted to lean into him. I wanted him to wrap me in his arms. I wanted to be close to him. But after the last kiss, I didn’t have the courage to take anything I wanted. Luckily for me, Collier seemed to read my mind. His arm snaked around my waist, and in one fluid motion, he brought my body to his. The world around us fell away, and the only thing that existed was the security he offered in his embrace.

He dipped his head next to my ear, and the sound of his voice washed over me like a cleansing rain. “I’ve missed you, too.” Then his lips met my temple, and he pulled back to see my face. His eyes scanned my features before he finally asked if I was ready to be seated.

Hand in hand, we followed the hostess to our table. The ease that normally surrounded us was off, and I knew we needed to address it, even though all I wanted to do was sweep it under the rug.

Just as I opened my mouth to speak, he said, “Thank you for the little presents. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to get in touch with you this week. Things haven’t been good at work, and I’ve been living in my office putting out fires.”

I waved him off. “It’s not a big deal. I figured you needed time to sort through things.”

“I did, but not a week. Unfortunately, I got sidetracked, and each time you reached out, I was in the middle of some horrific customer issue. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come help you with the garbage disposal.”

My cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and I prayed he didn’t ask anything further. God knew I didn’t want to rehash that experience. He made eye contact with me, and the way he lifted his brow and quirked his lip teased at my humiliation with Luke Bryan’s pipe-fixing doppelganger. But instead of rousing me, he glanced down at the menu.

The waitress came and took our drink orders, but my stomach was too tied up to even consider food at the moment. He was here, but he hadn’t committed to anything beyond dinner, and I didn’t want to assume that his term of endearment or the lingering hug meant anything more than friendship.

“You know we have to talk about this, Giselle. We can’t just pretend the last few months weren’t what they were.”

My gaze cast toward the table, but his hand lifted my chin to force me to look at him.

“Giselle, please don’t shut down. I want to understand, and the only way I can is if you talk to me.”

“Okay, what would you like to know?”

“It’s not so much what I want to know but what I need to say.” He took my hand on top of the table and gently squeezed it while he held my stare. “I didn’t give you much slack when I showed up at your house, and for that, I’m sorry. I hope you understand just how blindsided I was by your kiss and then your confession.”

I nodded my agreement.

“I think you captured my heart the first time you asked to drive my car.”

My eyes went wide with excitement, and my mouth opened, but before I could get the question out, he stopped me.

“And the answer is still no.” He winked at me and kept talking. “But I believed you were into chicks. Hell, the first time I saw you was because you showed up at my house to have dinner with my sister. But, Giselle, even in the driveway, when I was a total ass, you still made my heart skip a beat. I’ve fought my feelings for you for months, refused to allow myself to go down that road because it would only end in disaster for me. But every time I turned around, there you were, hanging out, talking, being one of the guys. You infiltrated every aspect of my life without even trying. And I struggled to believe it wasn’t planned—even though it couldn’t have been.”

“Collier, I had no idea you and Beck lived together. I didn’t make dinner plans with her to meet you. I didn’t know you existed. It was all happenstance. But for the first time in my adult life, there was a man who treated me like a friend with zero expectation. I wasn’t willing to risk that by announcing my sexual preference. The only other person I’ve ever felt that comfort with is Ronnie.”

“I realize your intentions were never malicious…I just didn’t see it that morning on your front steps.”

“I’m sorry, Collier. So sorry. I never planned to mislead you. I hope you believe that.”

A snarky expression moved across his face. “So that day at the car show…you were jealous of Roma?”

An exaggerated eye roll caused him to laugh from the belly—a deep, hearty chuckle. “Which one inflates your ego more, converting a lesbian-wannabe or my being jealous of another woman?”

He quirked his mouth to the side and tapped his chin with his finger. “Hmm. I’d say they both give me equal street cred and increase the value of my man card tenfold.”

“At least you’re not full of yourself or anything.”

“What about the skimpy swimsuits?”

“What about them?”

“Were those to attract my attention, or is that your typical pool attire?”

Ugh, he was insufferable. I guess humiliation was my penance for misleading him. “Both.”

“That has to change.”

“What? You don’t like my swimsuits?” They were cute as hell, and I worked hard to look good in them.

“I love them, but so do all my friends. So if I’m not physically with you, I’d prefer you either wear something with more coverage or one of those sheer things girls put on over it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at him. “You’re kidding, right? Have you seen the way women, even those not interested in men, look at you? And you’re worried about what I wear?”

He smiled and nodded.

“Fine.” It wasn’t a point I cared about arguing. I’d deal with it if the time came, but I hoped I’d just have Collier with me, and then it was a non-issue.

“The nail polish…”

If he had anything negative to say about my love of all things OPI, this might be where I had to walk away. Some women were addicted to shoes, some had an affinity for handbags, and others wanted jewelry. Personally, I had to have every color OPI ever put out. It wasn’t a negotiable point. I took a deep breath and asked, “What about it?” I held it in, hoping this wasn’t the end of Collier.

“Do I have to give it back?”

I blew out the air trapped in my lungs. He got it. Collier got me. “No. Those are for your personal collection. Did you have a favorite?”

I expected him to laugh, and he did smile, but he also held up his right pinky for me to see.

“Just wanted to see what love looked like on me,” he added.

The one nail was painted, fairly well I might add. “GPS I Love You.” He didn’t have to tell me the color, I’d recognize that shade anywhere. A chill ran up arms, and my eyes moved from the polish on his finger to the haunting green eyes that seduced me that day in his driveway. His lids narrowed just slightly, and the corner of his mouth tipped with the hint of a grin.

I didn’t ask why he’d left it painted. I didn’t care. I just loved that he had. I’d wanted to lean over the table and plant a kiss smack dab on his lips, but even I wasn’t that brave. After my epic failure on the dance floor two weeks ago, West would have to be the one to make the first move. I couldn’t risk the rejection for the second time.

We talked through dinner where I picked at the salad I’d ordered, and the easy comfort that had surrounded us in the past engulfed us like a cocoon. My mind raced in anticipation of where life would take us and how quickly we could get there. I didn’t need to rush things with Collier, but we’d wasted so much time that I wanted to make up for it.

“Giselle?” His thick fingers waved in front of my nose, catching my attention. “Where’d you go?”

“Sorry, just daydreaming.” I sounded drunk. Collier might not be in love with me, it might just be heavy like, but I was head over heels. I had it bad.

“Yeah? What about?” He stabbed the last piece of his steak with the fork before popping it into his mouth. Everything about him was masculine…even the way he chewed. I couldn’t stop staring at his jaw muscles—clenching with each bite. Or the way his arms flexed when he moved the silverware. But my favorite was the subtle way his eyes changed colors just slightly when he looked at me and said my name.

“Nothing in particular. Just glad I’m here.”

When the meal was over, and we’d sat there as long as we could, we finally got up to leave. I realized then I hadn’t thought this whole evening through very well. We were in two separate vehicles, which meant our time together ended when we left. Then it dawned on me as we stepped into the parking lot, my hand in his…I hadn’t seen Collier’s 911 when I’d pulled in, but he’d definitely arrived before I did.

“Where’s your car?”

“I had Beck drop me off. I hoped our evening wouldn’t be over after dinner.” A mischievous grin crossed his lips.

“A little presumptuous aren’t we, Mr. West?” My inner whore jumped for joy while I tried to play coy.

“Just figured we’ve wasted enough time. But I can call a cab.” He tried to mask his disappointment in favor of being a gentleman.

“Come on. I can take you home.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything. My car wasn’t hard to spot in the sea of blue, red, and white vehicles in front of us. Collier led the way, opening my door and helping me in before rounding the car to the passenger side. He remained silent during the ride, and I debated whether or not to take him back to his place or assume he wanted to come to mine. Taking a risk hadn’t paid off before, so I opted for the safe choice.

There wasn’t a light on inside when I pulled in behind his Porsche, and I hated the idea of leaving him alone. I knew the feel of those cold floors and the emptiness that grew inside me when I was inside those walls. When it was filled with his friends, it came to life, but without anyone around, it was like a vacuum. But I’d made an effort to pursue Collier, to show him I wanted to be with him. I’d taken the chance of emotional rejection—I couldn’t face physical, too. This was where I turned over the reins.