Page 123 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

By the time Daisy has exhausted herself greeting every living creature within a ten-foot radius, Nina straightens and says, “Farmers’ market?”

I blink. “Now?”

“We’re already out.”

“That’s a disturbingly logical argument.”

“I know.”

I hesitate for half a second, then shrug. “Fine. But if you buy six candles and call it self-care again, I’m leaving you there.”

She gasps. “That was one time.”

“It was four scents and a tote bag.”

“They were artisan.”

“Robbery is still robbery even if you put it in kraft paper.”

She grins and loops her arm through mine as we head out of the park.

Redemption Square is already busy by the time we get there.

The market’s in full swing. White tents, folding tables, crates of produce stacked high. Flowers in metal buckets. Bread. Honey. Handmade soap that all smells like either lavender or moral superiority.

There’s music somewhere near the gazebo. Somebody with a guitar, not famous, just good enough to make the world feel fuller.

People call hello as we pass. Daisy attracts attention the way some women attract bad decisions.

Bill Smith is already arguing with someone over peaches. Martha Callahan is pretending not to enjoy it.

Grace Holloway has an outdoor book display set up outside Daffodil Books and is absolutely watching the entire square like gossip is pollen and she’s the local bee population.

Normal. Harmless. Fine.

And then Nina goes still beside me.

That’s never a good sign.

“What?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer.

She just stares past me with that delighted little focus she gets when she’s spotted something she intends to investigate.

I follow her line of sight.

Oh shit.

Xander.

He’s standing near the fountain with a paper bag in one hand and his phone in the other, dressed in dark jeans and a black henley like the universe personally sat down and designed him to be inconveniently hot in daylight. His head is bent, attention on the screen, one hand shoved into his pocket.

He looks normal.

Just a man in the middle of a farmers’ market buying fruit and existing with his stupid shoulders and his stupid face and the exact same mouth that has caused me an unreasonable number of problems lately.

“Interesting,” Nina says.