Her shoulders loosen a little. “A few. Mostly small accounts. I’ve been researching, building a list of creators I want to reach out to.”
Something flickers across her face then—a private amusement—and my stomach tightens.
“What?” I ask.
She just smiles and shakes her head. “Nothing.”
I make a mental note to come back to that.
“What kind of clients are you looking for?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Right now? Anyone who’ll pay. But eventually…” She tilts her head, thoughtful. “I want to work with people who offer real value. Not just endless product endorsements or pointless fluff. And definitely nothing political. That’s a mess I don’t want to wade into.”
Smart.
A server swings by to clear our plates, asking if we need anything else. Kari thanks her, and when we’re alone again, she turns to me with a grin that feels downright mischievous.
“Okay,” she says. “Your turn. Spill. What’s your big secret?”
She rubs her hands together like she’s about to get the lowdown on some juicy gossip. I haven’t mentioned my Fans page to anyone, not even Darby. I don’t know if Kari will be disappointed that I’m basically selling my body for services rendered. Not that I have any contact with my followers. I rarely follow up on DMs unless it’s a legit question.
“Ice cream first,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “You’re stalling.”
“Nope.” I smile. “I just remember how much you love that place a couple blocks over. We can walk and talk.”
“I couldn’t possibly eat ice cream,” she says immediately. She wraps her arms around her waist, hiding her body.
“Yes, you can,” I assure her.
She opens her mouth to argue, then stops. Sighs. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” I say, “you’re coming with me.”
Outside, the air’s cool enough to raise goosebumps on the back of my neck. Kari tucks her hands into her sleeves.
“Want to drive over?” I ask.
“Nah.” She shakes her head. “The walk’s nice.”
If I had a jacket, I’d offer it to her, but instead I pull her closer, tucking her into my side. She snuggles into me, not seeming to mind.
“Body heat,” I say. “Two people are warmer than one.”
I try not to think about how natural it feels, how much I like the feel of her against me. But that’s a tall order to fill.
At the ice cream shop, she orders chocolate chip, same as always. I get a salted caramel espresso something or other, that sounds fancier than it is. We take a window seat, and dive into our ice cream.
“Confession time,” she says, spoon hovering over her cup.
I take a breath. “I’m saving money to open my own gym. I’ve already got my personal trainer certificate. I just need a place to put it to use.”
Her face lights up. “That’s an amazing idea. I mean—look at you. You’re already a walking advertisement.”
My smile falters despite myself. “Yeah.”
She notices immediately. Reaches across the table, her fingertips brushing mine. “Did I say something wrong?”
