“You are? Where’re your fins?”
The little girl pointed to her feet. “Right here.”
Bronte tickled her niece’s toes and sides, hugging her close. “Who’s the prettiest girl in the world?”
Zoe grinned ear to ear. “Aunt Bean is!”
“Yes.” Bronte kissed Zoe’s cheeks, then stage-whispered, “Good answer.” Bronte had been training her niece to say that for quite a while now and earned a few laughs, including one from Chris. Not that she had taken much notice.
“All right,” Pattied said with a clap of her hands for attention. “Guess what I bought today?”
Bronte risked yet another glance in Chris’s direction and found him staring at her as guesses rang out from her niece and nephews. Something about s’mores and a fire pit was mentioned, but she couldn’t grasp the conversation, feeling as though she was in a vortex with Chris. Only him and those dark, unnerving eyes, peering straight into her.
What were the possible odds that in all of the towns in America, Chris would show up in hers? Math was never her strong suit, but she could guess they were pretty slim. Then again, the odds she would pass out from the effects of high blood pressure were rising by the second.
The sky had darkened, and the temperature dropped, ushering in a cold breeze. Bronte stepped inside the house to grab a hoodie, and as she had pushed her head through, Chris appeared in front of her.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” she said, tugging the sweatshirt down.
“So, Bean, is it?” Chris tilted his head, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met.” When she didn’t say anything, he jutted a stubborn chin out at her. “You lied to me.”
The irritation in his voice spurred her indignation. Anger was an easy emotion to cling to, easier than the temptation she felt for him. “My name is Bronte. I live in Allentown, Pennsylvania. My parents are Steve and Pattie Hollinger. I have two siblings, one niece, and three nephews, with one on the way. I’m a special education teacher, and I met you on a plane coming back from a long weekend in Chicago. Did I miss anything?”
“The part about you having a boyfriend. It’s a pretty big thing to forget to tell someone. Especially when—”
“Nothing happened.”
He took one step closer. “Yeah, but—”
“No.” She cut him off, stepping back with heavy feet. She didn’t want to hear him say what she suspected, that he felt this pull too.
Until tonight, she had hoped it was her imagination getting the best of her, that she’d somehow concocted Chris’s magnetism. But no. Whatever it was about him that drew her to him, their attraction was real, and hadn’t faded since their first meeting.
He narrowed his eyes, crushing the bill of his baseball hat between his hands. “So, you’re going to ignore it?”
“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression.”
His eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his hair. “The wrong impression? You’re telling me—”
Voices filtered in from the kitchen, and Bronte trained her eyes in their direction. “We can’t talk about this now. I can’t do this.”
She brushed by him, apologizing under her breath, and nearly ran to the backyard. With the fire burning bright, the kids roasted marshmallows, while Shelley ate them straight out of the bag. Bronte took a seat next to her sister and occupied herself by making a s’more.
Chris came back outside a minute later, flanked by her brother and mother. “I’m going to head home.” Bronte glued her eyes to the marshmallow she held over the fire as Chris said, “Thanks for letting me crash your dinner, Steve.”
“You’re welcome anytime,” her dad said in his usual friendly tone.
Then after a few seconds, in which Bronte tried her best not to look up, Chris finally took his leave, saying, “It was nice meeting everybody.”
Bronte was so busy tuning him out she didn’t feel Hunter place his arm on the back of her chair. “You almost ready to go?”
She ignored the question.