“Theoh look our little sister is smittenface.”
Violet placed a hand over her heart. “We would never.”
“We absolutely would,” Fiona corrected.
I threw a piece of muffin at her. She dodged it.
“I’m not smitten,” I insisted. “I’m stressed. Huge difference.”
“Is it?” Violet asked.
“Yes.”
Fiona tapped her nails on the counter. “Because you look extremely smitten.”
Violet nodded. “Positively smote.”
“That’s not even the right use of smote.”
“It’s the right use for your face right now,” Violet said.
I groaned into my hands. “You’re impossible.”
Violet nudged a mug toward me. “Tell us the rest.”
“There is no rest,” I said defensively. “We camped. We ate freeze-dried soup. We slept. That’s it.”
“Sienna,” Fiona said, her tone flipping from teasing to knowing in one second flat, “we’ve known you your whole life. You don’t get frazzled by animals. You don’t get frazzled by hikes. You don’t get frazzled by the weather. You only get frazzled by feelings.”
“I don’t have feelings.”
Violet laughed so hard she had to brace herself on the counter. “Oh my God. That is your battle cry every time you absolutelydohave feelings.”
Fiona crossed her arms. “Is the problem that he makes you feel something?”
I snatched another muffin piece, shooting them both the deadliest glare I could manage. “I’m ignoring your psychologicaldissection. I don’t need therapy from people who drink twelve-dollar matcha and haven’t emotionally recovered from the great goat stampede of ‘21.”
“That goat chasedyou, not us,” Violet said.
“Off-topic,” I snapped.
Fiona snickered. “So is Carson.”
“NO,” I said louder than intended. “Carson is work. Workwork. Very professional work.”
“Professional work doesn’t make you blush,” Violet sing-songed.
“I don’t blush.”
“You do right now,” Fiona pointed out.
I slapped my hands over my cheeks. Damn them.
Violet leaned forward, chin in her hands. “Okay. Real question. Why does he bother you so much?”
“He doesn’t bother me.”
She raised an eyebrow.
