Page 60 of Your Place or Mine

We stared at each other for a beat longer than we probably should have.

The air between us had shifted again. No more barking, no more flung sarcasm. Just this… hum. Low and steady. A pull I didn’t want to name.

“I should…” I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder toward the door. “I’ve got responsibilities.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. And I’ve got a… bruise forming.”

“Put some ice on it.”

“I’ve got an entire freezer full of ice cream.”

I hesitated. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m always okay,” she said.

But her voice was softer this time.

And I didn’t know what to do with that.

So I did what I always did.

I turned and left.

But the image of her smiling at me, cheeks flushed and paint-smeared and impossible not to notice?

Yeah. That one stayed.

Long after I picked up the crate again.

Long after I walked down the street.

And long after, I told myself to stop thinking about her altogether.

The crate of beer was back in my hands, but my head wasn’t in it. My feet slowed, stalled. And finally, I gave in.

I turned.

Through the front window ofBean There, Done That, Lydia was fussing with her shirt, trying to pull it back into place where it had ridden up during her fall. Her fingers smoothed the hem, then raked back through her hair as she blew out a breath and looked around like she needed something to focus on—anything but what had just happened.

I saw it.

The flush still on her cheeks. The way her weight shifted from one leg to the other, restless and full of something too tangled to name.

And then, like she felt me watching, her eyes flicked up and caught mine through the glass.

We both froze.

There was a beat—maybe half a second, maybe a lifetime—where neither of us looked away. Her lips parted slightly. I swear I saw her chest rise like she’d sucked in a sharp breath.

And suddenly, I wasn’t thinking.

I was moving.

I walked back to Lydia, pushed open the door, and let it chime.

Riley was at the far end of the coffee shop with her back turned, taping up color swatches. Lydia stood dead center in the floor, her arms crossed tight, like she hadn’t expected me to come back.

Truthfully? I hadn’t either.

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