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I smile. “You figured right.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. Although I have to say, eating tacos off the hood of a Porsche is a new experience for me.”

“First time for everything, Peachy.”

I laugh and take another bite, trying to catch a piece of filling before it falls onto my shirt.

When I look up, Wyatt is watching me with a smile.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head and looks down at his food. “Just glad you like it.”

“I do.” I bump my shoulder against his. “And for the record, you didn't have to go to all this trouble.”

“Buying you tacos? Yeah, real hardship.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I. These things aren't cheap.”

I laugh, and I'm about to tell him he's an idiot when I hear it.

"Quinn? Quinn Brennan?"

My stomach drops before I've even turned around. It's Carol Holloway, my dad's assistant coach's wife, standing three feet away with a bag of takeout and an expression already halfway to delighted gossip.

"Carol. Hi." I step, casually, I hope, half a foot away from Wyatt, like proximity is the only thing that could give this away. "Small world."

"I'll say. Is that—" Her eyes land on Wyatt, doing the math visibly, the way everyone in this world always does. "Wyatt Larkin?"

"Ma'am." He nods, easy, grin already sliding into place, the practiced one, the one for strangers. "Just grabbing dinner."

"Together?" Carol asks, delighted, already composing the text she's going to send someone the second she's back in her car.

"Comparing taco places," Wyatt says. "Like a competition. This was my entry."

She doesn't buy it. I can see her not buying it in real time, filing it away with the specific glee of a woman who's about to have a very good phone call with someone tonight. Probably her husband.

And there is nothing either of us can do about that now except smile and hope she doesn't take a picture for good measure.

After an agonizing thirty more seconds of small talk she's gone, back to her car, phone already half out of her purse before she's even hit the door handle.

I watch the taillights pull out of the lot, my whole body gone rigid in a way it wasn't thirty seconds ago.

"That's fine," Wyatt says. "That's totally fine."

"That is not fine." I set my plate down on the hood, appetite gone. "That's Carol Holloway. She's on three group texts with women who know my dad. She's probably typing right now."

"Okay, but... aren't you jumping to the worst-case scenario a little?"

He turns to face me fully, one eyebrow raised. "I mean, realistically, what's going to happen? We grabbed tacos. That's it."

"You don't understand how this works."

"Then explain it to me."