Page 37 of Worth the Trip

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

He bent to retrieve the candy, and damp cotton stretched across his shoulders.

My books suddenly required inspection.

“My judgment compromised right now,” he said as he straightened. “I’m grieving.”

“It was one chocolate bar.”

“With almonds.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you. Means a lot during this difficult time.”

A smile betrayed me.

His eyes dropped toward the hand still resting near my throat. “You always grab that necklace when you get flustered?”

“I’m not flustered.”

“No?”

“No.”

He nodded toward my fingers. “Then that pendant must’ve said something out of pocket.”

I released it immediately. “I’m carrying too much. That’s all.”

“That part, I believe.”

“You pay entirely too much attention.”

“I coach football. Patterns matter.”

“Studying strange women behind restaurants is part of the job description?”

“Only when said strange woman dumps peach tea on me and then starts arguing with visible evidence.”

“I am not arguing.”

“You definitely arguing.”

“I’m explaining.”

“With impressive commitment.” I opened my mouth, realized he was enjoying every second of this, and closed it again. His grin widened. “See? Growth already.”

“You are aggravating.”

“We’ve known each other four minutes.”

“Long enough.” One of the gallon jugs shifted against my fingers. He reached toward it, then stopped short of touching the handle. “May I?”

I looked at his hand, then at him. “You’re asking?”

“My mama raised me.”