“Hey.”
Newman appeared around the side, reaching her in seconds with his slow, easy gait. He wore jeans, old and faded, and a loose cotton button-front shirt. Only the bottom two buttons were done up. His hair was a mess, and he looked sexy. Which just pissed her off, because Hope could never throw on clothes and look anything but a mess. And his sexiness had gotten her in the mess she was in.
“How come you’re up here?”
Hope took a step backward. It was instinctive, but his eyes narrowed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Her voice was far too squeaky.
“Hope.”
“I—ah, have to go.”
He grabbed her wrist and stopped her, his eyes roaming her face and down her T-shirt.
“Nice outfit. That shirt rocks with the boots.”
“I really have to go, Newman.”
“Why? I thought your hero was out of town today?”
“Hero?”
“The revered Mr. Finch.”
“John is a very nice man.”
“I know, you’ve told me and anyone else who will listen. Then there’s the hours you spend hanging on his every word.”
“What are you talking about?” Hope looked at him. His eyes were narrowed, and he looked seriously annoyed.
“You’re making a fool of yourself over that man.”
Hope wrenched her arm free. “I cannot believe you’re jealous.”
His face closed up like a clam.
“So am not.”
She had no reason to laugh because her life could be termed a disaster, but Hope found herself doing just that.
“You’re an idiot, and I don’t have time for this.”
“You came here,” he pointed out.
“I didn’t. I was walking, and ended up here, please note the difference.”
“So maybe I was a bit.”
“A bit what?”
“Jealous, all right. Shit, do you want me to spell it out?”
It was so strange to see Newman flustered, she took pity on him.
“No, and yes. I have something to tell you.” She had to do this now; it was only fair.
