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Because…yeah, that’s nice.

He seems pleased by my answer. “Great. Do you think it will always be around this time?”

“It probably works best. I can just stop over during my lunch break.”

“Great. Then I can stop by too.”

He wants to be here too? Well, that’s interesting.

“I think you caught onto the line dancing pretty quickly. Do you think you need more lessons?”

He smiles down at me. “It was fun. And I’m definitely interested in seeing how this works for Brewser. Watching his progress will be nice. Plus…” He trails off.

I want to know what he was about to say. But then I think maybe I already know.

Lawson wants to see me.

This is a chance for us to spend more time together.

Without Beckett around.

We see each other at hockey practice on a regular basis, but there’s always a ton of people and a lot going on.

Brewser will be here during these silly lessons, but it definitely felt like we had more interaction than usual.

“It was nice having a chance to talk with you more today,” Lawson says, confirming my thoughts.

“It really was,” I agree. I loved everything I learned about him today.

“Okay, then it’s a date. Every day, right here over lunch.”

He used the word date.

I feel a giddy rush of oh my god, does he like me? Like, like like?

I’m suddenly a thirteen-year-old girl with a crush, analyzing every blink of his eye, every single word, the way he seems to be stalling his exit.

Maybe I’m reading into it. Maybe this is nothing. But I’m having a really good time.

“If we’re all here every day at this time, are you worried that your stalker won’t be dropping off casseroles?” I ask.

Because, yeah, how am I going to do that, come to think of it?

Maybe this is a way out of that. They stop getting casseroles from the stalker, and I can offer to fill in now that Lawson knows that I know that Brewser is having issues.

But the corner of Lawson’s mouth curls in a sly little half-smile, and he shakes his head slowly. “No. I’m not worried.”

I tip my head. That expression is mischievous. What is he thinking?

“No? Not that fond of the casseroles anyway?”

“Oh, very fond.” He pauses. “Almost addicted.”

For some reason, that makes heat twirl through my belly.

We’re talking about meat and potatoes. He’s not talking about me personally. Still, the tingling around the area of my nipples doesn’t seem to understand that.

“Besides,” he adds. “If she really likes me, she’ll find a way to make it work.”