I beam up at him. “You sure do.”
He leans over to touch my lips in the briefest of kisses. I mewl in protest when he pulls away and he chuckles. “We’re on a schedule.”
“We are? Where are we going?” I ask as my stomach rumbles.
“First, to feed the monster inside you.”
I regard the kitchen counters. Empty. “No pancakes,” I pout.
“Spoiled brat.”
He herds me toward the golf cart. “I can walk,” I protest.
He stops to frown down at me. “The same way you walked around all last night?”
I cock an eyebrow. “How do you know I didn’t bike or ride a golf cart?”
He pinches my chin. “Because I saw how swollen your ankle was this morning. I can spot an overuse injury a mile away.”
Damnit. I had to fall in love with a former professional athlete. “Fine.” I give in.
We climb into the golf cart. “To breakfast, Jeeves!”
We pass Bake Me Happy and continue toward the diner. “You sure about this,” I ask as he grasps my hand to lead me inside. “The Gossip Gals as you lovingly refer to Feather, Petal, Sage, Cayenne, and Clove is going to attack the minute we enter the diner holding hands.”
“Nice try. We’re not returning home, so I can make you pancakes.”
Dang. He saw right through me. “Fine,” I huff.
Gracious rushes to us the minute the door opens. “Rowan! Ashlyn! I have your table ready.”
Table ready? The diner doesn’t accept reservations. It’s first come, first serve. She motions us to the booth furthest away from the door along the window.
As we make our way to the booth, I watch as everyone in the place types on their phone. I’m sure money exchanges hands as well, but I don’t see it.
“French toast and a big coffee for Ash,” Gracious announces as we sit. “And oatmeal with a side of sausage for Rowan.” She leaves before we can respond to her orders for us.
I lean over the booth and whisper, “What do you want to bet everyone’s on the Facebook page announcing a sighting of Ashwan?”
“Ashwan?” He chuckles.
“Ashlyn and Rowan. Duh.”
“First, I’m vetoing that portmanteau. It sounds similar to a curse word in a foreign language.”
I clap my hands. “Which is why I love it!”
Rowan ignores me. “Second, I will never bet against the town being a bunch of snoops.”
“Excuse me,” Sage hisses from the booth behind him. “I prefer the term busybody.”
I giggle. Only a resident of Winter Falls would think the term busybody is a badge of honor.
“What’s the plan for today?” I ask Rowan after our coffee arrives.
He cocks a brow. “Plan?”
“You said we have places to be. Places. Plural.”