Page 20 of Huckleberry Hill
“Are you thinking of rebounding with Declan?”
Abby set the pastries and chai down on the table. “You should totally rebound with Declan.”
“I’m not rebounding with Declan,” I said adamantly.
“Then what was with all the flirting?” Abby asked.
“He flirts with everyone,” I remarked.
“Yeah, maybe,” Gracie allowed. “But you flirted back.”
“I didn’t!”
“You so did,” Gracie said. “Plus, he flirted differently with you.”
“Yeah, he did,” Abby agreed.
“Flirted differently? What does that even mean?” I demanded.
“If you can ride a Harley, you can ride a horse?” Gracie repeated. “Come on. That’s so hot.”
“Yeah.” Abby fanned herself. “If you don’t want him, you mind if I ask him out?”
I gritted my teeth and then forced a smile. “He’s a little old for you, don’t you think?”
Abby lifted her brows. “I’m twenty-one. How old is he?”
“Thirty-two,” I said.
“Huh. I’ll take him for a test drive. Gotta see about his stamina, you know?”
Her words made my vision flash red. The lizard part of my brain sparked with jealousy. I curled my hands into fists and shoved them into my lap before I did something stupid like wring her neck.
The front door opened and a trio of customers walked in, pulling Abby back to the counter.
“Easy, champ,” Gracie said with a wry smile. “Your cheeks are flushed, and you look like you’re about tackle my best barista to the ground.”
I swallowed. “She’s really your best barista?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it,” I muttered.
Gracie frowned. “You seem more upset about Abby asking Declan out than you do about the loss of your fiancé. Am I reading that wrong?”
“We broke up a week ago,” I said slowly, ignoring her comment about Declan completely. “I’ve already started the grieving process. Don’t want to look behind me and dwell.”
“That sounds healthy. Why does that sound so healthy?”
“Salem wanted me to donate all his clothes to the thrift store.” I grinned. “So when he comes home from Italy, he’ll have nothing. She’s feral. So, I have to be the healthy one.”
“I wouldn’t want to get on Salem’s bad side.” She cocked her head. “Did she come home with you?”
“She couldn’t. I took time off work because I was supposed to go to Italy with Gianni, but yeah . . . I came home instead.”
“Ah.” She pushed the plate of pastries toward me. “Your dad and grandmother must be happy to have you home.”
“They are.” I picked up a lady-finger-looking pastry and took a bite. “Oh, this is good. I promised my dad I’d bring home a grab bag of your pastries. So remind me before I leave to get a box.”
