“He won’t. Why would he? This was always our place. He hates greasy spoon food.” He brushed the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone. “Liam got you good.”
She nodded. “It’s fading, thankfully. Do you know how awkward it is telling people the bruise on your cheek is from getting headbutted by a freakin’ llama? No one believes me.”
He chuckled and the sound looped around the knot in her chest, teasing it loose.
“I suspect they all think I got blackout drunk and hit my face when I fell. But llama headbutt? Hell no. That’s too out there.”
The strokes of his thumb back and forth across her skin sent little sparks dancing across her face, she leaned into his hand.
“You’re touching me.”
“You’re letting me.” He paused, frowning. “I can stop.”
She shook her head. “I don’t dislike it. I’m just not used to it.”
That brought a full on laugh out of him. “We touch all the time, Molly. All the time.”
“Sure. Platonically. This…” She pointed a finger back and forth between them. “This isn’t platonic.”
“Tell me about your interview. It was this afternoon, right? How did it go?”
She nodded and hissed out a slow breath. Her interview was neutral territory, a safe conversation. It made her stomach ache but for way different reasons than the risk of being caught canoodling with her brother’s best friend.
“It was fine. Good. I think I did okay. I answered all their questions, I didn’t look like a swamp witch, I didn’t cuss…”
“Then why do you look like someone kicked your puppy?”
She smiled. “Tough competition. There was a line of people out the door clutching thick binders full of experience. People who know people. Competitive as hell people. I did my best, but I don’t think it was good enough this time.”
Finn sighed, but didn’t stop stroking her cheek. The slow rhythm of the sweeps against her skin was reducing the chances she was going to have a heart attack right there in the diner.
“What’s with the sigh?”
“You’re your own greatest critic, Molly.”
“Aren’t we all our own greatest critics?” She reached out to touch his face.
Joe cleared his throat and Molly shot back in her chair, her face flaming. Joe’s lips twitched and his nostrils flared like he was fighting a smile, but he said nothing. He placed the food on the table, gave Finn a shoulder pat, and disappeared back behind the counter and into the kitchen. Finn tucked into the food like he hadn’t eaten in years.
“You might want to slow down on the shoveling, Finny. If you choke and die before we…” She covered her mouth with a slap.
He wiggled his eyebrows and pointed his fork at her, swallowing hard before speaking. “You’ve thought about it.” His eyes lit up like high beams on a country road in the dead of night.
Were all men so dense? Did he really have no clue about how often she’d thought about having his skin on hers?
She rolled her eyes. “Only every day since we met.”
He snorted. “I bet you don’t even remember the day we met.” He shook his head and shoveled half an onion ring into his mouth. Joe came out of the kitchen, arms laden with plates he delivered to the family of five around a circular table in the far corner.
She picked up a fry, skimmed it across the top of her milkshake, and pointed it at him. “Do too.” She lowered her voice. “It’s etched in my memory. I prayed so hard that you were just in town for the summer so we could hook up without upsetting Will.”
His brows shot up. “You wanted rid of me?”
Her throat tightened. “Never. It just would have been easier than…” She shoved the fry in her mouth, hoping it would be enough to stop the word vomit that had somehow made its way out into the space between them. “You know, I almost died that day. I inhaled soda and almost choked to death. That shit burns.”
He laughed. “I remember that but never knew why.”
“I pretty much saw you and swallowed my tongue. My brain stopped working.”
