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I had to laugh. “Sounds like Sarah.”
“And the whole blended supper thing…” Reese went on.
“Also unnecessary,” I admitted, growing a little embarrassed about how useless Mom had made poor Sarah look.
Reese only snorted. “Well, I should hope so. When she took a cookie off the table, I almost had a heart attack, trying to remember the steps to CPR in case she choked.” She leaned toward me, making my breath stall as her scent filled my nostrils. “Actually, after seeing that, I made us some s’mores for our campfire later on.”
I leaned in too, because how could I not? I think I could sit here and just smell her for the rest of my life. “I know,” I murmured, grinning. “She told me.”
She shivered as if my nearness affected her the same way it affected me. My mind spun with possibilities. I considered nothing but the fact that she might like me the same way I liked her. And fuck, what an addictive thought that was. I started to lean just a little closer, test the waters, when she suddenly pulled away and returned to her meal as if nothing had happened.
“She’s a sweet girl.”
Christ. What the hell had I been thinking? I could have nothing with this girl. Just sitting here talking to her was probably more forbidden than I should’ve dared. Why had my mind been going there?
Forcing myself to remain chill, I answered, “She is.”
Reese opened a packet of ranch dressing and poured it over her salad. “It’s a shame she wasn’t invited to that slumber party.”
Gritting my teeth over the reminder, I muttered, “Oh, you don’t have to convince me. I know.” Watching her stab a piece of lettuce, I had to ask, “Do you always eat rabbit food?”
“Hmm?” She looked at her salad as if just then realizing what she was eating. Then she rolled her eyes my way. “Uh, you ate what I was going to have for breakfast. What do you think?”
“Aha!” I cried, pointing. “I knew that was your breakfast you gave me.”
Her mouth opened as if she wanted to deny it, but then her shoulders slumped as she stabbed more lettuce. “Whatever,” she mumbled. “I bet you didn’t.”
“Oh, I knew,” I insisted, smug about the fact I’d been able to read her so well and had actually pegged the situation right. “You think a drink bought for a guy would be a white chocolate mocha espresso? Really?”
She frowned. “Hey, I thought you said you liked it.”
“I did,” I assured her. “It was way too sweet though. Like girly sweet.” I grinned and lowered my voice. “Must be your lucky day. I just so happen to like it extra sweet.”
Instead of looking amused, her scowl only grew. “You are so…”
Falling prey to the playfulness of the moment, I teased, “Charming? Handsome? Intriguing?”
She sent me a dry glance. “I was going to say confusing.” But something in her eyes glittered with agreement over the other terms.
Pleased with myself, I nodded. “We’ll slot that under intriguing.”
With a sniff, she rolled her eyes. “Actually, I think it really deserves its own classification.”
“Fine. Whatever you like.” I shrugged, letting her have her way.
“I do like,” she sassed back, removing the tomatoes from her salad and piling them onto a nearby napkin.
“Aren’t you going to eat those?” I asked, not sure why I was so interested in her food. I wanted to learn more about her. But I couldn’t just come right out and ask those kinds of questions, so I guessed I was trying the old “what’s your fantasy?” tactic, asking about food instead, so I could glean her personality from whatever response she gave.
And s
he was simply adorable when she wrinkled her nose. “What? My tomatoes? Eww.”
“How can you not like tomatoes?” I demanded, blinking.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s nothing personal against them. I’m sure they’re very pleasant in a social setting, and they’re fine in, like, ketchup and spaghetti and stuff. I just don’t want them on my salad.”
I loved that answer. It was cute and fun and original. I stared at her tomatoes, trying not to think about how much more this made me like her, when she said, “Do…you want them?”
