Even as I say it, I know I'm lying to myself. Admiral apparently thinks so too, because he gives me a look that clearly says,Yeah, right.
"I mean it! I have self-control. I can keep him at arm's length if I want to."
Admiral lifts his head, suddenly alert. Two seconds later, the doorbell rings, and my heart jumps into my throat. "He's early."
I grab my purse and phone and take one last look in the mirror.
You've got this, Gallagher!
Then I head to the front door. Admiral beats me there, his tail beating the air excitedly as he waits for me to let his favorite person in.
"Traitor," I mutter affectionately. I open the door and forget how to breathe.
Wyatt's standing on my porch, looking unfairly handsome in dark gray pants and a sky-blue button-up shirt that makes his eyes look even more vivid. His dark hair is styled, not just towel-dried and left to do whatever it wants, and he's holding a single rose.
"Hi," he says, his voice warm. "You look beautiful, Merri."
"Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself." I take the flower, trying not to show how much the gesture affects me. "This is gorgeous."
He shrugs, but there’s no evasion in it. "Mrs. Marshall strikes again. She has strong opinions about proper date etiquette."
The flower’s spicy scent makes me smile. "Remind me to thank her."
Admiral pushes past me to greet Wyatt, who crouches down to give him the ear scratches he's clearly been waiting for.
"Hey, buddy. Are you taking care of your mom?" Admiral groans with pleasure, leaning his entire weight against Wyatt's leg.
"We should go," I say, "before Admiral decides you're staying here with him instead."
"Good point." Wyatt gives Admiral one last pat, then straightens. "Ready?"
"Where are we going?"
"The Silver Willow in Hibiscus Harbor."
My breath catches. "The Silver Willow? Wyatt, that place is?—"
"Expensive? I know. Consider it an apology for all the times I made your life hell."
I scoff. "That's a lot of apologies."
"Then it's a good thing I have a decent roasting business."
We say goodbye to Admiral, who’s already meandering to his bed. Wyatt opens the passenger door of his truck for me. The gesture catches me off guard, I'm not used to this version of him.
"I can open my own doors, you know," I say, but there's no bite to it.
"I know youcan. However, my grandmother would haunt me from the grave if I didn't at least make an effort to be a gentleman."
The drive to Hibiscus Harbor takes about twenty minutes, and we fall into an easy conversation about the brewery, the competition, and the fact that our beer is currently carbonating and will be ready for a final tasting in a few days.
"I still can't believe how good it turned out," Wyatt says, glancing at me. "I knew we had something special, but that sip today…" He shakes his head.
"I know. It’s one of the best beers I’ve made. I guess we make a better team than I thought."
"We do." He reaches over and takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, which sends a chill through my body. "Who would've thought?"
My heart stumbles at how natural his hand feels around mine. This is Wyatt Dalton, who once sabotaged my bake sale cookies in high school just to watch me panic, and who told thePelican Point Gazettemy brewery smelled like "desperation and stale dreams." Now his fingers are laced through mine like we haven't spent twenty years plotting the other’s humiliation.
