Page 21 of Falling for Keeps

“Good to know,” he says.

“But maybe you already know that.”

“She mentioned you’re particularly good at cutting in.”

My cheeks warm further. Why can’t I resist a blush just once? Curse of red hair. “I meant the supplies. She didn’t tell you she has them already?”

“We’re here on a whim.”

“I’d start with the primer and the paint, then.”

“Thanks.” He points down to the end of the aisle. “You can still pick out your own roller, Nickel.”

Penny squeals, racing down to where they’re all hanging on hooks.

“You know different rollers leave different finishes, right?” I can’t help myself. I’m Hermione-ing the heck out of his errand here, and it’s going to do nothing but drive him away.

“What?” he asks, making me feel a little glad I spoke up. He moves closer so another woman can pass us as she heads toward the register.

“Not all rollers are created equally. Some leave more of a texture and others are smoother. It depends on the look you’re going for.”

Carson rubs a hand over his face, fingers scratching over his stubble. “Which one do I want?”

“Have you never painted a room before?”

His eyebrows hitch up. “Okay, Judgy McJudgerson. I have, but I didn’t buy any of the supplies. This isn’t something I’ve had to think about before.”

“The ones your mom has are great for bedroom walls.”

“I’m beginning to think I don’t know what I’m doing, which is concerning since my entire office needs a refresh.”

“If I can figure out a bathroom renovation, you can paint some walls, Carson.”

His gaze jumps to me, soaking me in, like using his name unlocked a door between us we were both pretending wasn’t there. His green eyes are deep and full and lock my feet right in place. “So, you knew my sister?”

I swallow roughly, keeping my attention off his lips. “We were in the same grade.”

He nods slowly.

Some part of me must be feeling gutsy, because the next words leave my mouth without my permission. “I kind of knew you, too.”

“Really? Huh.” Carson’s head cocks to the side, but he has the grace not to say he doesn’t remember me. “So…when we met the other night?”

“I might have already known who you were. You don’t take us clear to State without gaining some notoriety in this town.” It’s the perfect opportunity to remind him of our year together TAing in the office or how I helped with the newspaper and we crossed paths occasionally. But apparently my bravery, and my need to bring up my braces-studded past, has limits.

His eyes narrow. “What was that at the bar, then? An act? You were pretending we’re strangers?”

I’m pretty sure we both had a no-strings idea of that night, but I can’t say that to him. He was clear about his intentions—or lack thereof—and I was going with the flow of the evening and enjoying my ride in Cinderella’s carriage. Prince Charming over here was part of the magic, but no, I had zero expectations.

Besides, if anyone has a right to be hurt by the events that transpired, it’s me. Carson told me he was leaving town. I thought he still lived in Tennessee. Really, he was only moving thirty minutes away, and if he was actually interested in me, that would be a reasonable distance to…I don’t know…ask a woman on a date, instead of make out with her and then bounce.

The more I think about it, the more irritated I become.

“You were fairly blunt about leaving town.” I hold my ground. “I don’t think you get to throw accusations at me.”

“If you knew who I was, you knew my mom already.” The pieces fall into place in his head, and he leans back a little, assessing me. I can feel his gaze moving over me. “You knew we were neighbors.”

“No.” We need to get this straight. Again. “I knew I was neighbors with your mom, but you told me you weren’t sticking around. I figured you were heading back to Tennessee.”