Page 16 of Red, White, and You

She looks away, setting her fork down. “It’s late. I should go.”

“You don’t have to.” My voice comes out low. “Unless you want to.”

She rises from the table, and I stand too. “Phoenix…”

“Yes?”

Her eyes flick to mine once more. “You almost kissed me today.”

My breath catches. “Yeah. I did.”

I take a step closer to her, my heart thudding. Her hand brushes my chest, warm against bare skin, and the air between us shifts—charged, magnetic, impossibly still.

I reach up and tuck a loose curl behind her ear. She leans in.

Our lips aresoclose. One breath. One heartbeat.

Then the grandfather clock in the hallway chimes. Gigi jumps.

“It’s officially midnight,” I say.

“I should—” she starts.

“Right,” I say quickly. “Of course.”

I step back, pulse still racing, trying to mask the sudden ache in my chest. I can’t kiss her. Not yet.

Not when I’m still collecting checks from her parents. Not when the face of Hart Health—her personal nemesis—is still technicallyme.

Am I ready to walk away from all that? To leave it all behind?

I’ve only known Gigi for a few days. It’s crazy to turn my whole life upside down for her. But there’s an ache in my heart that I suddenly feel certain only she can fill.

I don’t deserve her.

Not until I’ve cut ties with her parents, at least.

“Thanks for the cake,” I say, my voice rough.

“I’m glad you liked it.” She’s already moving toward the door. When she reaches it, she pauses. “The Fourth of July parade’s today. If you’re not busy…”

“I’ll be there.”

Her smile brightens just a little. “Good. See you then.”

She drives away, and I stand there in the doorway like an idiot with a fork in my hand and caramel on my tongue, wondering how a strawberry cake and yet another near-kiss has completely knocked the wind out of me.

And wondering what exactly I’m going to do about Gigi Hart.

Chapter 10

Gigi

TheFourthofJulyparade in Honeysuckle Ridge is exactly what you’d expect from a small mountain town. Crowded and chaotic but charming.

I’m standing on the sidewalk in front of my bakery, wearing red shorts and a white tank top sprinkled with tiny blue stars, holding a basket of sugar cookies to hand out to parade-goers. It’s barely nine a.m. and already hot enough to melt butter on the pavement.

“You look disgustingly patriotic,” Ella says, appearing beside me with two iced coffees. “Like a Fourth of July Pinterest board threw up on you.”

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