It's the perfect cozy brunch setting.
And yet, here I am, about to be interrogated until I confess every dirty thing I've done in the last forty-eight hours.
"So Zoey." Quinn's voice goes silky-sweet. "Let's recap. You've told us about the bakery clean up…"
"Yep." I sip my coffee.
"And you've told us about the park… how Morgan came home calling himBuddy."
"That's right…" I exhale, wrapping both hands around my mug.
Quinn and Avery exchange a look I don't entirely catch.
Then Quinn arches one perfect eyebrow.
"Okay. Beautiful. Sonow…" She leans forward, elbows on the table. "Tell us about what happened in the locker room."
My eyes goes so wide coffee damn near squirts out the edges.
"Quinn!"
"What? It's the next natural question."
"How do you even—" I look at Avery. "How does she know about the locker room?"
Avery holds up both hands. "Don't look at me. I was on the ice with Morgan."
"Oh, please. Delaney haseyeseverywhere in that building, Zoey."
Quinn shrugs like this is just basic information any sensible woman would already have.
I drop my forehead to the table and groan in a way I absolutely did not when I had Colt's mouth on mine.
"I want to die."
"Sweetheart, no." Avery reaches across and pats my hair. "We just want toknowwhat happened."
I lift my head an inch. "Why? So you can make fun of me?"
"Yes," Quinn says immediately.
"No," Avery says, glaring at Quinn. "Because we love you. And because if something happened, you should be able totalkabout it. With us. Your people."
I sit up slowly.
They're both watching me. Quinn with that sharp-edged patience she pretends she doesn't have, and Avery with those big green eyes that have always,alwaysbeen a safer place to fall apart than I deserve.
I take a breath, wishing Colt was here to talk me through it like he did yesterday when I was having a full blown panic attack about how badly I'm going to fuck this stupid community event up.
Three ruined recipes, and no notebook to be found to rescue a recipe I've been working on for years.
I drag my eyes back up to find them both still waiting, two pairs of brows climbing higher with every second I stall confessing what happened the other night.
"I…" I clear my throat. "I may have… possibly had my hand down Colt Lane's pants."
The sound that comes out of Quinn is not a human sound.
Harold turns from the espresso machine and squints at our table. "Everything alright over there, ladies?"
