“Like half a second, but I was there because I was following him. I was completely out of context for him.”
“Mask or not, he had to have known,” she argues.
“Well, he didn’t. Okay?” I don’t mean to snap at her, but she’s hit a sore spot and the words come out harsher than I mean them to.
“Okay.” Sutton’s voice goes soft and cajoling. “If he really didn’t know, you have to tell him.”
I drop my face to the table, miserable. “I know. But you know what happened last time. He’s going to hate me.”
Sutton drags me up by my chin, forcing me to look at her. “Or this is your chance. The two of you have crazy chemistry. Everyone knows it. Muriel even has a betting pool going on you two.”
“Nuh-uh,” I gasp.
“Yeah-huh.” Sutton grins. “The entire bingo group is in on it.”
“Oh, that’s just great,” I grump. “Just what I need. Every meddling octogenarian in town is going to be breathing down my neck.”
“All the more reason to tell him the truth.”
I open my mouth to respond, but her eyes go wide and she kicks me under the table, hard enough to shatter my shin.
“Ow! What the—”
“Tell who the truth?” A deep voice asks behind us and I jump, nearly falling off of the bench. I turn, wide-eyed, to see Jonas standing behind me in a dark red flannel shirt. He has a gray beanie pulled over his hair, setting off those eyes I love so much. My gaze dips lower and once I look, I wish I hadn’t because I am officially in trouble. His jeans are so fitted they should be classified as a gift from God. I gawk at him, my brain flatly refusing to function.
“Kenna hates the aprons at The Pub,” Sutton pipes up cheerfully. “You should order her something cuter. How do you feel about the whole French Maid thing?”
I glare at her and feel my eye twitch.
Jonas’ eyes narrow ever so slightly as he looks back and forth between Sutton and I. Finally, those beautiful eyes settle on mine.
“I’ll give you anything you need, Kenna. You know that.”
Need.Of course, he has to say it like that. It’s not enough that he shows up looking like a sexy lumberjack. He has to wreck my panties, too. The things I need from him are 100% inappropriate for a family festival.
Dean strolls up behind Jonas and claps him on the shoulder. Jonas’ face goes impassive as Dean looks from Sutton to me, and back to Jonas. “Weird vibe over here. You guys ready for the hayride?”
“I—should probably get going,” I hedge.
Dean squints at me. “What? Why? I just got you a ticket for the hayride. You love the hayride.”
“Yeah, I do. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night and we’ve got the Wychwood at midnight—”
“Don’t be such a pussy, kiddo. We do this every year and you’re not getting out of it. Here, take my coffee and suck it up.” Dean holds out a cup from the Sugar Creek Bakery with steam rising through the lid.
“Fine. Just don’t call me kiddo,” I mutter, taking the cup and doing my best to ignore the way Jonas squints at me.
We line up and board the wagon. I sit on one side of Sutton. Dean takes her other side, leaving plenty of room for Jonas to sit next to him. But instead of sitting in the empty spot, he squeezes his massive frame between me and the startled tourist to my left. Dean looks bewildered, but Sutton urges him to scoot down, freeing space for the rest of us. Jonas winks at the woman next to him, who blushes and looks away. Then he turns, resting an arm behind me and casually leaning back to say something to my brother.
The tractor gives a tug, and the wagon lurches as it starts rolling. Sutton raises her eyebrows at me and I shrug, eyes wide. I don’t know what’s gotten into Jonas Flynn, but clearly he’s off his rocker.
“How’s the coffee?” Jonas asks me, voice is low as he leans in, making the question feel far more intimate than it should.
“It’s good.” I take a sip and look straight ahead. I’m almost afraid to meet his eyes. Hay digs into my ass through my jeans and I shift on the bale, readjusting.
“We could revisit the French Maid costume, if that’s what you were thinking about,” he murmurs in my ear. Jesus. I wasn’t before, but now I am. I brave a glance up at his face. There’s a hint of a humor behind those serious eyes and a tiny smirk that has my brain swimming. Damn, if that isn’t the exact expression he was wearing last night after he made me come. Made his Kitten come.
“Are you flirting with me?” I whisper.