Unease fluttered. I wasn’t looking for commitment. I was sleeping across the hall from my mother. He was living at his grandfather’s with Miss Dee. We had managed a few stolen kisses and one rather memorable make-out session on the porch swing. But we weren’t horny teenagers, hooking up in the backseat of his grandfather’s car. We couldn’t sneak off to the beach like Meg and John when they first started dating. There was a difference—wasn’t there?—between sharing a luxury suite in Paris and checking into the Marriott by the airport for a couple hours.
Paris had been a fairy tale. Popping corks and fireworks and fantasy sex wrapped together in an illusion of happily-ever-after.
But if we slept together in Bunyan, it would be real.
For both of us.
My phone vibrated. I ignored it.
Trey, at least, didn’t seem in a hurry to make our new status (“It’s Complicated”) public. But he’d given Miss Dee the week off, he’d said. Which meant—didn’t it?—that tonight we could be alone. We could do it and no one would ever know. My insides tingled. My skin buzzed. Thank God I was wearing nice underwear.
I cleared my throat. “I like your car.” He’d ditched the Ferrari in favor of his grandfather’s massive Lincoln to make room for Beth and her guitar.
He grinned. “Yeah, it’s real a chick magnet.”
“If you’re Aunt Phee, maybe. Country girls go for tractors. And pickup trucks.” I sank into the leather seat, keeping my knees together. Breathing in the smell, like the accessories wall at Nordstrom’s, leather and money. “Really big trucks. With fog lights and tinted windows.”
Amusement warmed his eyes. “Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome. I figured you might need some dating help.”
“Because I have no game.”
“True.”Not true. “At least you’re rich.”
“That was always my dream. To be loved for my grandfather’s money.”
We were teasing. Flirting. But there was a snap to his words, brightand hard, like the closure on a bag. “I’m sure some women want you for your body.”
“Damn. I was hoping it was my charming personality.”
“You can be charming.” Prince Charming.
“I hear abut.”
I shook my head. “Nobut. I just think you’re...”Don’t spoil this.Keep it casual.“More,” I said finally.
He didn’t answer. His hands—lean and long fingered, with squared-off nails—were easy on the steering wheel. But there was a tension in the car now that hadn’t been there before, like the echo of an argument we’d never had.
I tried again. “Like when you opened my car door.”
“I was being polite. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Yes, it did.”
“I wasn’t trying to put you down by asserting my male privilege. Obviously, you can open your own door.”
That sounded like something Jo would say. Had said, probably. “It means you’re considerate. Kind. You’re a kind person.” I paused. “Even if you don’t have any game.”
He smiled.Success.
My phone buzzed again. “Sorry, it’s probably just...” I glanced at my notifications. “Well, wow. That’s encouraging.”
“What?”
“I took more pictures of Aunt Phee’s furniture today. Those big old cabinets are so 1880s. So I staged them to make them look more contemporary. Added some flowers, some baskets, some bags to the shelves. Pops of color, you know? Contrast.”
I opened the app. Stared at my messages.
