“He’d gone down a rabbit hole. By the time he came in, he was convinced it was either dengue, malaria, or a rare flesh-eating bacteria.”
“And it was a tanning bed.”
“It was a tanning bed.” Lucas shakes his head. “I had to explain that tropical diseases require, generally, tropics.”
“Your job sounds exhausting.”
“It has its moments. Your turn. Worst writing disaster.”
“Oh god, there are so many.” I think for a moment. “Okay. I wrote eighty thousand words and accidentally gave my main character two names. Half the book she’s Emma, half she’s Claire.”
“How is that possible?”
“Changed it halfway through. Forgot find-and-replace. Editor sent back four hundred comments that just said WHO IS THIS PERSON.”
“Four hundred comments.”
“She was very thorough. Very annoyed. I had to buy her a very expensive bottle of wine.”
“That’s...”
“A disaster. I know.”
“I was going to say impressive. Eighty thousand words without noticing your protagonist’s identity.”
“I was focused on the plot!”
“Clearly not on the details.”
“That’s what editors are for.”
“That’s what proofreading is for.”
“Proofreading is for people with patience. I have deadlines and a caffeine addiction.”
Dolly brings pie—apple for him, cherry for me—and we argue about which is superior.
“Apple is classic,” Lucas insists, pointing at my plate with his fork.
“Apple is boring. Like your sandwich.”
“Cherry is too sweet.”
“Cherry isperfect.” I take a pointed bite, letting my eyes close in exaggerated bliss. “The tartness balances the sugar.”
“You just want to argue.”
“I want to be right. There’s a difference.”
By the time we’re scraping crumbs off our plates, it’s dark outside and my cheeks hurt from laughing. I can’t remember the last time I felt this light. This easy.
I want him. The realization hits me somewhere between the pie and the check. Not just want him back in my life—Iwanthim. The way his hands move when he talks. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The way his scent keeps wrapping around me, making me think about things I shouldn’t be thinking in a family diner.
I want to climb across this table and kiss him until neither of us can breathe.
“We should head back,” Lucas says. “Before your grandmother sends a search party.”
“She would. She has connections. I’m pretty sure she has the sheriff on speed dial.”
