The whole booth goes still.Stunt looks delighted.
Tucker watches me for a second, then says, “Not right now.”
I don’t know why that stings.It shouldn’t.It absolutely shouldn’t.But something in me dips anyway.
Then he adds, “But I might later.”
My heart does something stupid.I tuck the checkbook under my arm and try for cool.“Well.Let me know if you decide to use your words.”
Stunt laughs loud enough to turn heads.Tucker’s mouth twitches.I take that as my cue to leave.By the time they finally head out, I’m exhausted in a way lunch rush alone does not explain.
I work the rest of my diner shift in a haze and then head straight to the ice cream shop, where at least the customers are mostly children and exhausted parents too distracted by sprinkles to notice I’m losing my mind.
By evening, I’m sticky with sugar and ready to go home.I step out into the parking lot, fumbling for my keys.And stop.
There’s a motorcycle parked beside my car.
Black.
Beautiful.
Familiar.
My pulse jumps.Tucker is leaning against it, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses on even though the sun is dipping low.
He lifts his chin when he sees me.“Hey.”
I stare at him.“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
“You.”
That answer settles low in my stomach in a way I absolutely do not need.I glance around the lot.A couple teenagers are loading into a truck nearby, but otherwise it’s mostly empty.
“You can’t just wait by my car like some kind of leather-clad jump scare.”
One corner of his mouth lifts.“Thought you might be hungry.”
I laugh before I can stop myself.“That is not an explanation.”
“It’s close enough.”
I shift my purse higher on my shoulder.“I was actually going home.”
“Good.”
I squint at him.“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve heard that.”
The wind stirs a strand of my hair across my face and I tuck it behind my ear, studying him.He looks entirely too comfortable standing beside my car like we do this all the time.Like waiting for me is natural.Like I’m something he has every right to look for at the end of the day.I should probably shut this down.
Instead I hear myself say, “Quinn and I were going to have dinner.”
His expression doesn’t change.But I get the sense he’s listening very closely.“You can come,” I add before I can talk myself out of it.
