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“Excellent.” Now she wanted the earth to open beneath her feet and swallow her whole.

Mac zipped up his range bag. “But I’m paying.”

Jodie stared at him. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You absolutely are not. The entire point is that I’m buying you dinner as a thank-you.”

“Call me old-fashioned,” he said, shaking his head.

“No.”

He smiled. “No?”

“No to the entire concept. You don’t get to rescue me and then buy me dinner. That’s not how repayment works.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.”

“Jodie—”

“Nope.” She backed away before he could argue again. “My invitation, my bill.”

Mac opened his mouth.

“And don’t even try sneaking your card to the server,” she warned. “I know people.”

“At a pizza place?”

She pointed to her chest. “I work in security. We have contacts everywhere.”

Mac burst out laughing, which simultaneously made everything better and worse at the same time, because his laughter was intoxicating and she was still thinking about his hand on her hip.

Friend dinner.

Mac nodded. “It’s a date.”

Jodie’s heart jumped.

Then Mac’s expression changed. “I mean⁠—”

“I know what you mean.” She turned and started toward the path before either of them could make the situation more painful. “See you inside.”

“Jodie?”

She kept walking. “Nope. Conversation over.” Jodie limped faster.

Friend dinner. Pizza. Completely normal.

She was going to need a big glass of wine tonight. Then she remembered she was on pain meds so wine was out of the question if she didn’t want to drool all over the table and have Mac carry her home again. As a friend.

Stupid ankle. Stupid Dale. Stupid friend date.

SIX

Mac kept Jodie’s car in sight as they wound down into Lyons and tried, for maybe the hundredth time since that morning, not to think about his hand on her hip.