“I make an even better kombucha latte.”
Her entire expression twists in disgust and makes me laugh.
Laughing with her makes me want to kiss her again.
“I like you, and I don’t like people,” I hear myself say.
“I like you, and I don’t do relationships.”
“Why?”
“Because I come from a long line of women who didn’t sleep with the men everyone thought they did and it’s given me trust issues.”
My lips part. “You don’t trust your mom?”
“My grandmother was an amazing woman. My mom is an amazing woman. I trust them implicitly. But both got completely and totally screwed by the men who got them pregnant. I don’t trust men to do the right thing.”
Of all the things I expected her to say, this was not it.
“My grandfather isn’t my grandfather.” She’s watching me while she talks, like she’ll find out more about herself based on however I react. “Not biologically. I’m not actually a Sullivan. I’m not supposed to know that—very, very few people know it, actually—but I do, and it’s one of the reasons I will adore my grandfather until the end of time. He stepped up and married my grandma and took care of her and raised my mom as his own, making both of their lives more comfortable than they would’ve been otherwise, even if it wasn’t a grand love story. More like a mutual respect story. Everyone thinks my big genetic secret is who my father is. Not who my grandfather is.”
“Do you know your father?”
“I know who he is. That’s more than enough.”
“So…you’re not telling me we’re secretly related?”
Her eyes flare wide, and then she tips her head back and laughs. “If you’re this funny come next Monday, I might actually agree to go on a date with you.”
“If I’m this funny next Monday, I might have better options.”
She snorts so hard she has to wipe her nose. “Oh god. Tell me you didn’t see that.”
“You’re human. Horrors. Good thing I’ll have better options on Monday.”
Her peal of laughter lights up my entire soul.
I don’t just want to kiss her.
I have to kiss her.
“Sabrina—”
“Aroof!”
“Aaaahhh-CCCHHHHHOOOOOOOOO!”
The dog’s bark is fine.
But the sneeze startles me enough that I jump.
Because that wasn’t Sabrina.
That came from the kitchen.
She’s already shifting off her stool. “Are you kidding me?” she yells. “It’s four in the freaking morning.”
“Four-thirty,” comes a male voice I don’t recognize from someone who definitely shouldn’t be in the kitchen. “Em’s up and wants a cinnamon latte but won’t ask for it. Laney says to surprise her. I want a lemon scone.”
I follow Sabrina into the kitchen and find a man with shaggy brown hair and tattoos all down his arms squatting at Jitter’s doggy house, rubbing his shoulders and taking doggy kisses all over the face.
Jealousy rears up and I’m barking, “Who the hell are you?” before I realize what’s going on.
The guy flips a look over his shoulder and grins at me, and fuck.
It’s the naked knitting guy.
“Predawn entertainment,” he says dryly. “You must be Grey.”
“You’re Theo.”
“And he usually uses the front door.” Sabrina hands him the package of treats I got for Jitter.
“You weren’t open yet,” Theo says.
“Scones take an hour.”
“I can wait.”
My eyelid is twitching.
She is not making scones just because he asked her to when she hasn’t made them for me in too many days.
“Simmer down,” Sabrina says to me as she reaches for her apron. “He has the recipe himself at home if he wants them that badly.”
“And she’ll charge me double just for being cheeky,” Theo agrees.
“Cheeky?” She grins at him. “Where’d you pull that word from?”
“Laney’s making me read the dictionary.”
“You’re already to C?”
“I got bored and flipped to random pages.”
“I’m sure she’ll be shocked to hear that.”
“Completely flabbergasted.”
“You really have been jumping around.”
My jaw clenches.
Logically, I know this is old friends giving each other shit for fun.