With every step, I’m more certain that leaving early is a wise choice—prolonged Zack exposure is like leaving chocolate out in the sun. Much more of it and I’ll be a love-sick puddle. “Cone. It’s the only way to go. Zero waste and extra crunchiness. It’s the original win-win.”
He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know. I’m a cup guy.”
“What?” I ask, playing up my scandalized tone, anything to keep my mind off how much I want to stay here with him. Possibly forever. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t like crunch with my ice cream. I like it smooth, creamy, and a little melted.”
I cluck my tongue in disapproval. “How can you not like the crunch? The crunch is the best part. Tell me you at least like some crunchy stuff mixed into the ice cream itself.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m old-school. Just plain vanilla or plain strawberry. No chunks. No crunch. That’s my jam.”
I blink, truly dismayed this time. “Wow. That’s it? You don’t ever even try new flavors?”
“I know what I like.”
“But there are so many amazing flavors out there these days! I had a bourbon apple crumble scoop while I was on vacation in Oregon that changed my life. Truly. I think about that ice cream at least once a week.” I sigh. “I wonder what it’s doing now. Is it still as delicious as I remember? Is Scoop-a-holic going to open a location in Hidden Kill Bay so I can fulfill my destiny to eat bourbon apple crumble every single day?”
“See, you know what you like, too.” He squeezes my hand. “Your tastes are just a little more exotic than mine.”
“I would try other flavors, too,” I amend as we cross a small footbridge leading over the creek to the general store’s parking lot. “I would just come back to my true love after I was finished.”
“I know you would,” he says. “You’re very loyal.”
I frown. “I am. I was just thinking about that earlier.”
“Good. If you’re reading my mind, I like to be able to return the favor.” Before I can respond, he turns to me, pushing me against the worn wood near the back of the general store, framing my face with his arms as he bends to kiss me.
And not just any kiss—a hard, deep, devour-my-lips kiss that has my heart galloping in my chest and my entire body tingling by the time he pulls away.
“What was that for?” I ask, my breath coming faster.
“To prove I can still surprise you, too,” he murmurs.
“You’ve been surprising me,” I whisper. “Over and over again.” I’m about to say something else, something I shouldn’t, about him surprising me in the best ways when a car horn pierces the quiet air.
Zack flinches, and I jump, knocking my elbow on the wood behind me. I curse beneath my breath, rubbing my smarting funny bone.
“You okay?” Zack asks.
Before I can reply, a slick black convertible pulls into the empty parking spot in front of us, and a blond man wearing reflective glasses hops out. He literally bounces from the vehicle and across the pavement, light on his feet for a man with a sizeable belly stretching the front of his blue polo shirt.
“Zack, my man! What are the chances you’d be the first face I’d see on my way into town?” He punches Zack, who is looking uncharacteristically pissed, lightly on the arm before turning to me. “And you must be Colette.” He snags my hand, giving it a squeeze as he shoots an appraising glance at me over the top of his glasses.
“Yes, I am.” My skin crawls as his gaze sweeps up and down my body with an intimacy that makes me glad I’m wearing a bra for the first time in days. I have no idea how Zack knows this creep, but hopefully, we can ditch him as quickly as possible. “And you are?”
“Chip,” he says, baring his teeth in a predatory smile. “Manager, Zack’s biggest fan, and here to crash the party, sweetheart. I hope you two stocked up on coffee. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
Chapter Twenty
Zack
I can’t believe Chip pulled this shit.
I can’t believe he showed up without any warning, tailed us into the grocery store—ignoring my attempts to send him on to the retreat without us—and bullied Colette into the back of his car with his luggage, insisting I take the front seat for the drive home.
I want to break down and flat out tell him to get lost, but I keep hearing Gram’s voice in my head, insisting I be a good host, even to the most unwelcome guest.
Besides, we have to have this argument sometime. I’d say we might as well have it now and get it over with, except that I only have two more nights with Colette.