Tristian’s arms wind around my waist from behind, a kiss pushed beneath my ear. “Do you like it?” “I-I…” I’m speechless. He buries a smile into my shoulder. “I spent all day looking for the perfect one. I knew the second I saw that dark cherry red, it belonged to my Sweet little Cherry.” “Mine?” I ask, tongue feeling dry and heavy. “Really mine?” “Really yours,” he says, slipping away to walk to the car. It’s not all red. In fact, it’s mostly a flat, matte black. But there’s an elegant stripe that sweeps along the doors, slashing down the hood and along the roof, that’s a deep, vivid red.
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