“You didn’t deny it.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Fine. Whatever. Hypothetically speaking, if I had to choose someone to be trapped with underground in a terrifying enclosed space, he would not be the worst option.”
Violet made a triumphant noise. “Translation. You absolutely would get stuck in a cave with him. Happily.”
I pointed a warning finger. “Stop twisting my words.”
“You twisted them yourself,” Mom said with a grin.
“It’s not about romantic caves,” I muttered. “I just happen to appreciate that he seems… capable. And calm. And strong. And he has really nice—”
I stopped too late.
Both of them stared at me with raised eyebrows.
Mom’s smile widened to dangerous levels. “Nice what?”
“Hands,” I squeaked.
Violet cackled. “Hands. She likes his hands.”
“I didn’t say that,” I lied.
“You did,” Violet said. “Loudly. It echoed across the flour canisters.”
I covered my face again. “I hate this kitchen.”
Mom patted my arm. “No, you don’t.”
“You’re right,” I muttered. “I don’t hate it. I hate being blindsided. I hate that you all think I can’t handle things.”
Violet softened. “We don’t think that. You can handle everything. That’s the problem. You never stop handling things long enough to enjoy anything.”
Mom nodded. “Life is not supposed to be a series of solo expeditions.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “Spare me the mountain metaphors.”
But she wasn’t wrong. That made it worse.
“And the guide being handsome is just a bonus,” Violet added.
I groaned loudly. “He is not handsome.”
They both stared at me.
“Okay,” I admitted. “He is… visually acceptable. In a rugged outdoorsy catalog way.”
“Uh-huh,” Violet said, unconvinced.
“And maybe I noticed that he has a very nice voice.”
“Uh huh.”
“And eyes. And jaw. And shoulders. Maybe.”
Violet pressed a hand to her heart. “Our girl is down bad.”
“I’m not down anything,” I snapped.
