Page 56 of Best Served Cold

Briar gasps. “No.”

“Maybe the universe was trying to kill you,” Hannah suggests with a low laugh. “Or the sign was meant for someone else, and you changed the whole course of your life because of a mistake.”

Travis smiles mischievously. “So let’s call it a happy accident.”

“Nope,” Rob says, lifting the fresh drink I made for him. “We’ve already got one Pollyanna in this group. We’re not taking auditions for a second.”

“You still think I’m a Pollyanna?” I ask, finding the courage to look at him again. The sight of his swollen nose makes me flinch. “Should you apply that cream Dottie gave you?”

“I’ll do it later. It’s not your fault,” he says gently. “I punched him a few weeks ago, and he was paying me back. Karma at work. Honestly.” He reaches across the table like it’s nothing and pats my hand, the calluses from his playing brushing sensation across my flesh.

I draw in a sharp breath he misinterprets.

“We’ve probably punched each other hundreds of times.”

“Boys,” Hannah groans.

“What, you didn’t punch your sisters to keep them in line?” Travis asks her, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. “I’m not sure I believe that.”

“Because I’m a fiery redhead?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “Like I haven’t heardthatbefore. What a lazy stereotype.”

“What a way to avoid the question,” Travis says with a wry smile.

“I have two brothers, thank you very much, and I had no problem controlling them without resorting to physical violence.”

“I’ll bet,” Briar says with a sigh. “I can’t seem to stop listening to your advice.”

Hannah bumps shoulders with her, nearly toppling her from her stool. “That’s because I give excellent advice. Admit it.”

“If I say yes, I’ll only be proving my point.”

Bixby says something, but it barely registers in my brain, because my gaze has settled on Rob.

He smiles. “Yes, love of my life?”

Rob’s joking, obviously, but I feel my cheeks burning. “We should probably talk about this some more.”

“Probably,” he agrees. “It’s not every day a woman claims me in public.”

I can feel Hannah smirking at that, and the heat in my face amps up, but I nod toward the booths. “Let’s go sit.”

He leads the way, then slides into the one where I made my stand, literally, earlier.

“Do we have to sit here?” I ask, immediately regretting it because I sound like a sulky baby.

“Yes,” he says as he sets his drink onto the surface. “I have fond memories of this booth. It’s where our relationship first started.”

I swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. I know he’s kidding, but a part of it feels…

Don’t let a kiss turn you into a blithering idiot. Remember what happened last time you let yourself believe a man could save you.

“You’re not going to make me stand on the seat, are you?” I ask.

“I’m not going to make you do anything,” he says pointedly.

I believe him, and guilt pulses through my veins, because I kind of made him play along, didn’t I?

This is what happens when I let myself be impulsive.

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