“Hi,” I managed, which came out sounding like I’d swallowed a butterfly. “Happy Easter.”
“This is for your mom,” he said, lifting the tulips.
I nodded. “She’s going to cry.”
“I figured that might happen.”
We stared at each other for half a second. Maybe longer. Maybe far too long. His eyes dipped for a moment, not lower than my face, just…warm likehe was remembering the tent too.
Oh God.
The tent.
The closeness.
His voice whispering my name in the dark.
Nope. No tent thoughts allowed. Tent thoughts were the opposite of helpful.
“Come on in,” I said quickly, stepping back.
He entered, and chaos erupted.
My mom squealed. “You brought tulips! Oh, Carson, you sweet, sweet man!”
While my dad took them to put in a vase for her.
Beck appeared out of nowhere. “Look at this button-up! My dude, you clean up nicely.”
Fifi elbowed Violet. “He looks like the cover model for Midwest Men Who Guide.”
Violet wiggled her brows. “I would subscribe to that magazine.” Owen rolled his eyes, while I smacked her arm.
Carson stood like a good sport, taking it all in with a polite but wary half-smile, the same expression someone might wear while stepping onto a roller coaster that looked mostly safe.
Then his eyes drifted back to mine.
And something in my chest tightened.
“Happy Easter,” I said softly. “Oh, wait. I said that already.”
He smiled.
My mom swooped in. “Carson, darling, come help me in the kitchen. We need a strong man to lift the ham. Sienna, show him where to wash his hands.”
I shot her a look that screamedYou are ruining my life.
She smiled sweetly back.
I led Carson toward the sink as if he couldn’t figure it out himself, and he followed quietly, hands brushing his pockets, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal forearms that had no business being that distracting on a Sunday afternoon.
I turned on the faucet. “So, uh… thanks for coming.”
He nodded. “Thanks for inviting me. Or, well, your mom did, technically.”
“She ambushed you.”
He cracked a faint smile. “She’s very persuasive.”
