April scoffs.
Max smiles at her again. “I’ve got food on the stove. I should go.”
“Bye, Max,” June and I say together.
April watches him walk out of the room, still wiping her eyes.
“That was so dramatic,” I mutter. “Why are we all crying again?”
“Over a man,” June scoffs.
“Thesweetestman on the planet,” April counters. “So what happened next?”
“Oh,” I say, laughing. “He carried my groceries inside, and I somehow ran my mouth into inviting him to have dinner.”
June gasps. “So you’re cooking for him? That basically means you want to marry him.”
“This is not one of your romantasies June… also—here’s the kicker.”
April leans closer to the camera. “What?”
“He’s bringing fresh sourdough.”
“That he made?” April asks.
“By hand?” June adds.
I nod.
“Oh my fucking God,” June breathes. “What planet is this man from?”
“Tolan,” April replies immediately. “He isdefinitelyfrom Tolan. Sent to Earth to make all of May’s dreams come true.”
Chapter 17
Ihave just enough time to shower, slip into a soft T-shirt and comfortable sweats, and pour myself a glass of wine before the doorbell rings.
Neptune is on his feet instantly, tail wagging as he follows me down the hall, his nails clicking against the floor. With my glass in hand, I head for the door, already smiling.
“You’re here just in time,” I say as I open the door.
Then I stop, because the man standing on my porch is not the one I was expecting.
“Finn.” Surprise slips straight into my voice. “I…I wasn’t expecting you.”
His brows lift slightly, something cautious flickering across his face. “Were you expectin’ someone else?”
He’s still in his work uniform, jacket unzipped, a bouquet of red roses held loosely in one hand.
“Um… yeah.” I wince, immediately aware of how ungraceful that sounds. “Sorry. Hi. How are you?”
“Grand.” The word lands a little flat as he holds the flowers out to me. “These are for you. I’m sorry to drop by unannounced. I just… didn’t get the chance to see you leave earlier.”
I take the roses, my fingers closing around the stems as I look from them back up to him, still trying to process the fact that he’s actually here—on my doorstep, with flowers, instead of sending a text like a normal human being. At the same time, a very specific hope forms in my chest. The hope that he is not expecting to be invited inside, because that would turn awkward very quickly.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“There’s a charity thing tomorrow night,” he continues, shifting his weight. “Town’s hosting it at the winery. Thought I’d ask if you’d like to go with me. As my date.”
