Page 6

Elle leans in closer. “Did you know that you’re thirty-five times more likely to die in a motorcycle accident than a car accident? You might never even make it out of Summerville Creek if you’re not careful.”

I frown. “Actually, I didn’t know that. You’re scaring me.”

“Oh, and don’t forget taking selfies,” she adds. “More people die while taking selfies than the amount of people who die after a shark attack.”

“So, taking a selfie while driving my motorcycle over a shark-filled body of water would double my chances of death?”

“Quadruple. At least,” she says with a grin.

“How do you know all this?”

She shrugs, scooping some granola onto her spoon. “I have a thing for weird statistics.”

“I must say that’s an interesting skill to have. You never know when a statistic can save someone’s life.”

She gives me a soft kick under the table. “Watch it, mister. Data is power.”

Maggie clears her throat. “Is there a statistic about older brothers talking about statistics for too long and being late for work?”

I let out a laugh. “Subtle, sis, real subtle. But yeah, I should get going.”

I flick my gaze to Elle, who’s scooped the last of her granola out of her bowl. “I think I’m going to do some unpacking and lie down for a bit. Breakfast was yummy, though. We’ll catch up later today?” she asks Maggie.

“Sure thing.”

She then turns to me with a smile that makes my stomach do a somersault. The kind of smile you don’t expect but hits you right in the heart and pushes you off-center for a nanosecond. “It was nice meeting you again, Colton.”

“Yeah, you too, Elle.”

I watch her leave the room with her bag in tow, unable to tear my eyes away from her.

“Don’t even think about it,” Maggie says, pointing her fork in my direction.

“About what?”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Actually, I don’t.”

She crosses her arms. “So, you don’t want to date Julie, but you’re fine with gawking at my best friend?”

“Wow, you’re unbelievable. I’m not gawking. I’m not into her, okay? Don’t worry.”

“You’re not into her? Why not? What’s wrong with Elle? You’d be lucky to have her,” she counters.

I frown. “Nothing’s wrong with her.”

“So, you do want to try something with her? Because that ship is not going to sail.”

I shake my head. Women are unbelievable. You tell them A, they hear B. How am I supposed to have a normal conversation when everything I say gets misinterpreted?

I get up to rinse my plate in the sink. “Stop putting words into my mouth. Sure, your friend looks good and she’s a nice person, but no, I won’t try to date her. Happy?” I ask, as I turn off the faucet and grab a kitchen towel.

“Promise?”

I roll my eyes. “I promise. Good?”

“I guess.”