“Obviously.” She hung up and opened the fridge again, the same food staring back at her.
Oh, screw it, she was getting takeout. Cheap Chinese takeout, but that was still takeout. Pizza would be cheaper, but she’d been warned off Burt’s Pizzeria, and that was too far to walk.
She called and ordered. As she grabbed her house keys, her gaze flicked to Jesse’s closed bedroom door. Where was he tonight? Was he working late? He’d been working a lot since taking up the role of sheriff. And maybe a teeny tiny part of her missed him. But just as he was working a lot, she was out writing a lot. Or…trying to write.
With a deep sigh, she headed outside. The Chinese place was only about a twenty-minute walk, and thankfully, it wasn’t dark yet. She really shouldn’t be eating takeout, but man, did it sound better than plain steamed rice and tuna.
As she walked, a text came through on her phone.
Mom: I spoke to Dylan today. You need to call him. He misses you.
All the fine hairs on her arms stood on end, and for a moment, she just stared at the text as if hoping the words would dissolve in front of her.
She’d told her mother things hadn’t ended well. Why was she talking to Dylan? Why was she trying to convinceherto talk to Dylan?
She clicked out of the message and walked faster. When she entered the Chinese restaurant, the scent of Asian spices surrounded her.Somuch better than rice and tuna.
She was just stepping up to the counter when two people across the room caught her attention—and one of them was Jesse.
He sat at an intimate corner table with a woman.
“Flower girl.” The whispered words slipped from her lips.
She wore a tight red dress that exposed her shoulders. Aspen had never thought of shoulders as sexy before, but on that woman…yeah, they were definitely sexy. Jesse was leaning forward and touching her arm. It looked…intimate.
He was on a date. Jesse Hayes, her roommate, the man she was in complete denial about her infatuation with, was on a date.
His gaze collided with hers, and she gasped and looked away.
Shit. Wrong move. She looked back at him and gave a forced, awkward, I-don’t-care-that-your-date’s-gorgeous smile.
Good job, Aspen. You were about as convincing as a two-year-old saying they hate chocolate.
She switched her focus to the lady on the other side of the counter. “Hi. I have a phone order for Aspen.”
“Sure. I’ll go get it.”
When the woman turned, so did Aspen—right into a big, broad chest.
“Jesse. How the heck did you get over here so quickly?”
“I walked.”
Oh, so he was a funny man as well as the date of a beautiful goddess tonight. “How, um, how’s your date going?”
“It’s not a date.”
Yeah, and she was the Queen of Poland. “It’s okay. You’re free to date whoever you like, just like you’re free to send flowers to whoever you like.”
“Flowers?”
Shit. Stop talking, Aspen.
She shook her head. “Nothing. I should…”
He inched closer, and the words just died on her lips. Because he was right there. Right freaking there and he smelledsogood.
“It’s not a date,” he repeated.
