"I hate people who do that. Act like you owe them something because you're on TV." She takes a sip of her drink. Gets whipped cream on her upper lip. "You're not public property."
I reach out without thinking. Thumb away the whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. Feel her breath catch.
"Whipped cream," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
Her lips part. "Oh."
I should move my hand. We're in public. Anyone could see.
But I can't seem to let go. My thumb traces her bottom lip. Just once.
"Ryder." My name is barely a whisper.
"Lucy."
She catches my wrist. Holds it for a heartbeat longer. Then lets go.
We finish our hot chocolate in charged silence. Walk back through the market like nothing happened. But everything happened. Every brush of her shoulder against mine. Every shared look.
Back at the house, Connor's warning from yesterday plays on repeat. Keep some distance. Be her friend. She deserves someone who can be here. Someone stable.
But all I can think about is the way Lucy looked at me. The way she protected me. The way her breath caught when I touched her mouth.
At five-thirty, I can't take it anymore. I grab my keys and tell Connor I'm going for a drive.
I drive to Main Street. Park behind the shop. Wait until I see the last customer leave and Lucy flip the sign to CLOSED.
Then I walk to the front door and knock.
Lucy appears through the glass. Her eyes widen when she sees me. For a second, she just stares. Then she crosses to the door, unlocks it, and pulls me inside.
She locks the door behind us.
We just look at each other. Her chest rises and falls fast. Her pupils are blown wide.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi."
"Connor talked to you. Yesterday."
Not a question.
"Yeah."
"What did he say?"
"That you deserve better than me." I take a step closer. "He's not wrong."
"I get to decide what I deserve." She closes the distance. Puts her hand flat on my chest. "And I want you."
"Lucy—"
"Do you want me?"
"You know I do."
"Then stop trying to protect me from my own choices." Her other hand slides up to curl around the back of my neck. "I'm twenty-seven years old, Ryder. I know what I'm doing."
