“Rachel wants a Coke.” Molly forced herself not to bite at her bottom lip. The makeup artist who had troweled on Molly’s look had done a brilliant job. Now it was Molly’s job not to do anything to muck it up—like nibble at her lips.
“I don’t think staring at the shelf is going to make one appear.” He inched just a tad closer to her. “But I’m willing to try if you are.”
“Har.” She willed her feet to step away from him and lifted her hand to rub at the space between her eyebrows, but stopped herself. No. Messing. With. The. Makeup.
“Did you check the pantry?” Kellan asked, pointing toward a door near the back of the kitchen. “Maybe they’re in that refrigerator.”
“Were you going to mention the other fridge?” Molly asked, tossing more eye daggers at Gavin.
He nodded. Pulled his lips to the side. “I was getting to it.”
Molly gritted her teeth—another few minutes with Gavin and she’d need some serious dental work. “I’m not wearing enough underwear to deal with you right now.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Yep.” Molly popped her lips and said quietly so only Gavin could hear, “Probably best you don’t know that I’m not wearing underwear right now.”
His lips parted. His cheeks flushed. “I’ll check the butler’s pantry.”
Gavin turned and strode away.
Molly’s face heated. Gavin did not need to know about her underwear situation. Ever.
He returned with two familiar red mini-cans with a white swish on them. “Apparently, Mama hides the Coke in the back of that one.”
“Oh, thank hell.” Molly scooted forward to him as he passed over the soda.
“You’re welcome,” he said, like he was the one who recommended that refrigerator.
“Thank you, Kellan.” She held up the cans to him. “For these.”
Kellan kicked his feet against the cabinets. “You’re welcome.”
Despite what anyone who saw her in that moment might think, she did not bolt away from the kitchen.
No, she didn’t saunter like she wished she had.
But she didn’t run.
No. She didn’t.
That was her story. She was sticking to it.
What she should have done was look up before plowing into her date for the night.
“Oh my gosh.” She held up the cans, careful they didn’t get shaken up in the head-on collision.
Cam reached out to steady her. “Hey, you,” he said.
“Hey…you.” Nothing. She felt nothing. The butterflies she had been dreaming of dancing all around her belly were totally, traitorously silent.
Reaching for his arm, she gave it a not-at-all-awkward squeeze, willing a spark to flare.
Nothing.
“I’m—” She held up the sodas. “On a mission to give the bride something to drink.”
Cam gave her a lopsided smile and his eyes freaking twinkled. Her nerve endings were dormant. Dead. Not interested in him at all. This was ridiculous.
