“It was…” I hesitated, trying to put last night into words. “Good.”
“Good as in I didn’t crawl under the table from embarrassment good? Or good as in I had a kissable moment and didn’t kiss him only because a waiter interrupted me good?”
I set the basket on the counter and pressed my palms to my eyes. “Why are we like this?”
“Genetics,” she replied cheerfully. “Now talk.”
“It was good,” I repeated, more firmly. “Better than good. Great, maybe. I don’t know.”
Violet’s grin widened. “You’re glowing.”
“I am absolutely not glowing.”
“You are absolutely glowing,” she said, poking my cheek. “And this basket is my gift to you.”
“This is not for me,” I said, removing the cloth cover. “These are—oh wow, these are all of Carson’s favorites.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Violet said. “I like him. He’s quiet. We need more quiet in this family. It’s good for the ecosystem. You should deliver these.”
“Violet!”
“What? You’re taking them to him, aren’t you?”
I huffed. “Maybe.”
“I knew it.” She squeezed my shoulders. “Go. Before you overthink yourself into a coma.”
“I don’t overthink,” I lied.
She lifted a brow. “You crouched behind ceramic frogs yesterday.”
I pointed a finger at her. “How do you know this?”
“Grace.”
“Never speak of that again.”
“Then go,” she repeated, physically steering me toward the door like a sheepdog with a particularly stubborn sheep.
Which was how I ended up walking across the lodge grounds with a basket full of muffins, scones, Danishes, and what looked suspiciously like a sticky bun the size of my head.
Carson’s cabin sat near the tree line, early sunlight filtering through the branches and casting soft shadows across the porch. I paused a moment, letting nerves prickle beneath my skin like something waking up.
I knocked.
The door opened almost immediately.
Carson stood there barefoot, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered, wearing a gray Henley that did absolutely criminal things to his chest and shoulders. He blinked at me, then at the basket, then back at me.
“…Morning,” he said, voice still rough from sleep.
My brain momentarily forgot how to speak.
“Here,” I blurted, thrusting the basket toward him with the finesse of someone handing over a bomb.
