I wanted to fling myself into the snowbank outside, except it was too tiny to hide me.
Carson followed my gaze, looked at Abby, then back at me. “Should I be concerned?”
“Yes,” I said honestly.
“What will she do?”
“Nothing,” I assured him. “As long as she doesn’t tell Millie.”
“And Millie is…”
“The mayor of meddling,” I whispered. “She runs the Sunshine Breakfast Club. She decides whose love story this town is writing next.”
He sipped his coffee. “And she would choose us?”
“Yes,” I groaned. “She has the matchmaking accuracy of a heat-seeking missile.”
He looked at me for a long moment before saying, “Interesting.”
“Interesting, bad, or interesting run-away-now?”
“Undetermined.”
I dropped my head onto the table again. “I hate it here.”
“That seems dramatic.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “If Millie thinks there is even a faint spark of anything between us, she will summon the entire elderly female population of Buttercup Lake to accidentally interfere in our lives. There will be no peace this spring or summer for either of us.”
He set his coffee down. “There is no spark.”
“Exactly,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “Perfect. Great. We agree.”
A silence stretched between us.
Too warm.
Too charged.
Too… spark-like.
No. Nope. Absolutely not.
I stood abruptly. “We should probably go before Abby decides to livestream this.”
He rose smoothly, his height a little too distracting, and nodded. “All right.”
As we walked toward the door, Abby called out, “I expect updates!”
“You won’t get any,” I shouted over my shoulder.
Carson held the door open for me again.
I stepped outside, cheeks burning, heart doing something entirely illegal in my chest.
And the worst part?
When I glanced up at him, his gaze was already on me, warm and steady.
