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“Yeah, uh, sorry. I guess I forgot.” I moved aside.
She mock-glared at me as she slipped past. “You forgot to let me in or forgot our date?”
As she swept by me, trailing the scent of cinnamon buns, my cheeks puffed with the sigh I shoved out. “Both, I guess.”
“Something on your mind?” After setting the box on the coffee table, she plopped onto the sofa. Then she pointed at the overstuffed chair she knew was mine.
“Or someone,” I commented as I sat and reached for the box.
She slammed her hand on top of the to-go box she’d brought, keeping it from me. “Would that someone be Callan Wilder?”
“Yes. But how did you know?” I yanked the box free of her grip and held it possessively to my chest. Her Sunday morning cinnamon buns brought people from all over town to her shop, and even some from Central Nashville. They were the bomb, and she’d always saved one for me to gobble before our hike.
“Wait, you don’t know?”
I shook my head as I opened the box and then broke a corner off the bun.
“Shit.” Concern flitted through her gaze. “Some peckerhead posted a picture of you and Callan on Twitter. You are going viral as the mystery woman dating the country music superstar.”
I froze with the piece of bun halfway to my lips. Sudden tension gripped my muscles painfully, and I lurched forward. “Pardon?”
Naomi tapped her phone a couple times, then spun the display toward me.
“Oh, God!” The picture had been taken in front of Barks and Recreation, after Callan had helped me into the truck. I grabbed the phone from Naomi’s clutches to study the image.
Callan’s lips were locked on mine, fingers of one hand threaded through my hair, the other on the inside of my knee. That kiss had been so sweet, so full of promise, as had all his other kisses yesterday morning. In my mind, I reversed the direction the photo had been taken from, and realized it was from near the front door to the shop. But I knew without a doubt that Elizabeth hadn’t taken it.
“There was a fan there. She asked for a picture of her and Callan, which I took. She must have taken this one right before she went inside.” I checked out the number of likes and comments, and yes, it did look like the picture had gone viral. I dropped the phone to the table and slapped my hands over my face with a groan.
Naomi seized it and refreshed the screen. “You should see some of the comments.”
I peeked out between my fingers. “Do I want to?”
She squeezed my knee. “They’re mostly positive. An occasionalI’ll cut a bitchkind of remarks. But morethat man deserves happiness after the last year.Lots of comments about the dog.” She snorted. “Since I don’t see that little cutie here, I assume it’s Callan’s dog.”
My head bobbed and I pressed my fingers to my cheeks. “He adopted him yesterday. His name is Elvis.”
“Great name for a dog. And has he met Frank yet?” She grinned. “Frank and Elvis. Haha. Two musical superstars together again.”
“Yeah. Funny how that worked. The dog was a rescue and came with that name. He and Frank got along just fine last night.” I leaned back. “And again this morning.”
“That’s ni—” She stopped speaking, a knowing grin spreading on her features. “Hold the phone, sister. Are you telling me they were bunkmates last night?”
“They weren’t the only ones.” I tossed a bite of the bun into my mouth.
“You let me go on about a photo of you guys kissing and kept this juicy bit of goss from me?” She pounded her fist over her heart and flopped backward on the cushion. “I’m dead. You’ve killed me.”
I tossed a pillow at her. “You are not. You live for this shit.”
Hugging the pillow to her chest, she scooted to the edge of sofa. “Was it wonderful?”
I nodded.
The dopey grin on Naomi’s face said it all. She was thrilled for me but dying to know more.
I indulged her. “He’s just so nice.”
“Ha ha, girl. Nice.” She snorted and pinned her gaze on me. “No man wants to be called nice when you’re talking bedroom exploits. Them’s fighting words, and super tame at that. I’m still dead here. Help me out.”
