He laughs, and I feel it in my chest.
Stupid heart, knock it off.
“You? Dramatic? I never would’ve guessed. Wasn’t it you who made the posters and stuck them around our high school when you found out that Jenna was dating your ex?”
“I don’t recall any such flyers,” I lie.
Jenna wasn’t just dating my ex—she was dating my then-current boyfriend. So, yes, I used my crafting abilities to show that Guy Parksley had some issues and that women should be cautious.
I’m not proud of it, but I was young and a woman scorned and all that.
“I’m pretty sure Fallon saved one,” Tristan muses.
I roll my eyes. “Anyway, my point is…you’ll probably get a visit from Daddy, and you don’t have to lie about saving me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Some partner in crime you are,” I scoff. Half joking, half not.
“I’m not lying for you. Your family already thinks we’re untrustworthy and we’re trying to ruin your farm.”
Okay, so he has a point there. I hate all this. We’re neighbors. There shouldn’t be this hatred between us. No one is saying we need to be friends, but this…is out of control. I reach my hand out over the fence, resting it on his forearm.
“I don’t think you’re doing it. If it counts for anything.”
Tristan glances down where my hand is touching him and back into my eyes. His deep brown eyes bore into mine. “It counts.”
It does.
Shit.
I pull back, regretting the dumb impulse to touch him. I can’t touch Tristan Stone. I might turn into an alien or something, if the folklore is true. Space. That’s what I need. I step back and force a smile. “I’ll see you around.”
“Do me a favor. Tell your family to stop calling the cops.”
I wish it were that simple. “Tell yours to stop vandalizing our property.”
He grins. “I’m going to put up cameras to prove it isn’t us.”
“That would probably be the only way they’d believe it.” I keep moving backward, away from his intoxicating smile and soulful eyes that I do not want to get lost in. Thank you very much.
“Even then…” he says with a laugh. “They might not.”
I shrug. “I guess we’ll see.”
“I guess we will.”
“Hey, Lark?” Tristan calls out, and I hate the way my heart beats a little faster.
“What?”
“What do I get when I prove it’s not us?”
Oh, the things I would like to offer. None of them are possible. None of them will ever freaking happen, but the idea of them lives rent-free in my head.
“The satisfaction of being right,” I suggest.
“I think you’ll owe me something else.”
