I add a scoop of cat food, then cross to the coffee maker and the waiting scone. It’s golden brown, split through the center and filled with glossy blackberry preserves. Pale lemon glaze drips down the sides, and sugar crystals sparkle across the top.
Butter. Lemon zest. Warm berries.
Lila.
My dick twitches inside my jeans, and my fox nearly climbs into my throat.
Within a minute, nothing remains of the scone but crumbs.
I brush off my hands and read Lila’s note again.
See you at the competition.
The words fill me with warmth. No one ever expects me to show up anywhere. Honestly, I’ve never given a place or the people in it a chance to expect anything from me.
It’s a nice feeling. Better than nice.
I want to stand beside Mrs. Abernathy and Mayor Wren while the entire town gathers around the Frosting Queen stage. I want to watch Lila present her sugary creations. I want to see her face when everyone tastes it.
I want to help dismantle the booths when the festival ends.
I want to finish the volleyball season and start another one. I want Judith to flirt with me and Mayor Wren to rope me into another committee before I realize what’s happening.
I want to wake up with Mr. Biscuits trying to suffocate me.
I want Crescent Cove.
I want Lila.
From what she said last night, I know she’ll stay if I do. And I’ve never wanted to call someplace home more.
“I’m going back to the rental and opening every box,” I inform Mr. Biscuits. “I’m calling Jolene and asking for a real lease instead of month-to-month. Then I’m telling Lila I’m staying. That I’m falling for her so fast I can’t see the ground.”
That she is ours.
Mr. Biscuits flicks his tail and saunters toward a patch of sunlight on the couch as I make a beeline for the door. I’m so wrapped up in my own happiness, I nearly run into Candi standing at the bottom of Lila’s steps.
The soft feelings inside me vanish. “What are you doing here?”
“Good morning to you too, Maxwell.”
My gaze drops to the hot pink notebook clutched in her hands.
“Where did you get that?”
“Someone found it beneath the Ferris wheel.”
“Thanks for returning it,” I say flatly, holding out my hand for Lila’s journal.
She presses it against her chest. “This contains some very private thoughts. I planned to give it directly to Lila.” Her gaze moves over my wrinkled shirt. “But I see that she put the rest of her plan into play just in the nick of time.”
“What plan?”
“You don’t know?” Slowly, Candi’s smile returns. “Well, of course you don’t. It would be Operation: Butter Up the Fox if you did.”
A chill moves through me. “What operation? What are you talking about?”
She holds out the notebook and flips to a page written in glitter gel pen just like the note in my pocket. Across the top, in Lila’s unmistakable handwriting, are the words:
