Lena leans her chin on her hand. “I smell a date.”
I ignore them and type.
ME:
Depends why you’re asking.
His reply is instant.
TRACE:
Because I want you in my arms while we eat ice cream.
Paige slaps her desk. “Oh THAT MAN KNOWS WHAT HE IS DOING.”
My phone buzzes again.
TRACE:
Eight o’clock?
I stare at the screen, biting down a smile.
ME:
Make it eight-thirty. I have a meeting at seven.
Paige points at me. “Butter pecan. And wear a dress. Don’t play.”
Lena nods. “A porch date dress. Not a barn dress.”
My phone buzzes.
TRACE:
Eight-thirty.
And for the record, it’s not the ice cream I’m thinking about.
I feel my breath stall.
ME:
What are you thinking about?
His reply is one word.
TRACE:
You.
Another immediately follows.
TRACE:
Say you’re coming.
Paige and Lena don’t breathe. They are perched like falcons waiting for the kill.
