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“Sure,” I tell Chris with a too-bright smile. “I’d love to grab dinner. What time?”
We iron out details, and Chris leaves with an arrogant swagger that annoys the crap out of me. I pick up my phone to text him I’ve changed my mind, but then I remember Lucas smiling at Miranda.
Jaw tight, I tuck my phone back into my bag.
“That’s not the face of a woman excited for a date.”
My eyes narrow on my dad as he walks up to the counter. “Were you eavesdropping?”
He smiles. “Definitely.”
“I wasn’t frowning about Chris,” I lie. “I just remembered I forgot a load of laundry in the washer.”
His brows lift. “Right.”
I ignore that. “Okay if I bring Damien over around six forty-five?”
“Yup.”
He studies my face like he can read it, which I’m pretty certain he can. I sigh in defeat. “Just say it.”
His mouth opens. Closes. At last he says, “For someone as smart as I know you are, you seem hell-bent on rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic.”
I blink, then chuckle weakly. “Wow, Dad.”
He winks, a finger tapping the counter before he turns away. “Love you, hon. Have a good date.”
Within five minutes of Chris and me being seated at Twilly’s Café off Main Street, I want to leave. I should be with Damien and my parents, not pretending to be interested as Chris rambles about his hobbies. I’m remembering more about our previous date. Specifically how much he talked and how little he listened.
Even Zoey was less than enthused when I told her this afternoon, and that’s saying something. The woman has been trying to find me a man for years.
“…and that’s why I took up golf.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding. “Golf.”
A shadow falls over our table. I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking it’s our server. But as I’m lifting my head, a familiar scent envelops me. Goose bumps race down my arms and my relief morphs into dread.
“Hey, guys,” Lucas says, a sharp smile on his face as his gaze veers from Chris to me. He has a takeout bag in one hand. “Fancy meeting you here.”
I think things can’t get worse, but then they do.
My date stands up so fast his water glass wobbles precariously. “Lucas! My dude! What’s up?”
I grab the tilting glass before it can flood the table, but Chris doesn’t notice. He’s too busy snatching Lucas’s free hand and pumping it up and down. For a horrible few seconds—that pass in slow motion for me—Chris even moves in for a hug. Lucas takes a smooth step back. Chris fumbles, recovers, and finally gets the hint, releasing Lucas’s hand.
Standing face to face, the men couldn’t be more different. I feel like a jerk for comparing them but can’t help it. Lucas exudes confidence and charisma, a lazy smile on his face, his tanned, athletic body dressed down in jeans and a hoodie. He looks delicious, and Chris looks… less than on every level.
I drop my head into my hands.
“So good to see you, man,” Chris continues, his tone only marginally less fanboy-tastic than before. “You moving back to town?”
My head whips up. Lucas glances at me, and for a second, I think there’s guilt in his eyes. Then he laughs. “I’ll be here for the next few months at least.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Chris nods too many times. “You bought the old camp property. Good for you. That place is such a dump. I’m glad you’re tearing it down.”
My fingers fist in my lap. “Wild Lake is not a dump,” I say, a little too loudly.
Chris sends me a shocked look. “Whoa, sorry.”
