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“Sam!” Emma huffs, clearly wrestling the phone away from him. “That’s not the point! We talked about this!”

What? They talked about this?

There’s laughter now, hers and his, echoing through the speaker like some sitcom laugh track. They’re so in love, and it makes my stomach flutter. Can I ever be happy with someone like this? Does Cupid ever find love?

“You two are ridiculous,” I say, flopping backward on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. “He just came by to… I don’t evenknow. To be Jack Calloway, I guess. Smug, arrogant, completely full of himself.”

“Is he as gorgeous in person as he looks online?” Emma teases.

“Emma!” I hear Sam chide her playfully, and they both dissolve into silly laughter again.

“Sam, goodnight. Can I talk to my best friend in peace?” I groan. “You already have her all day to yourself. Don’t make me regret matching you two.”

Sam laughs, and I hear a rustling sound. “Fine. Emma, I’ll be in the bedroom. Okay?”

Emma purrs, and a door slams on their end. “When he says bedroom like that, it just makes me want to?—”

“Cut! Cut! TMI. Abort immediately.”

Emma giggles. “Okay. Fine. We were talking about how handsome Jack is.”

“I wasn’t.”

There’s a giant pause on the other end, and then Emma gasps. “You like him.”

“I do not like him.”

“You sound defensive.”

“I am defensive. Because you’re being crazy.” I pause. “He’s obnoxious, Emma. And so full of himself. He just strolled into my room like he owned the place. I was in a robe. I was two seconds away from throwing the coffee table at him.”

“But did you?” she asks sweetly.

“No,” I admit, glaring at the ceiling. “I just yelled at him. A lot. Then kicked him out.”

“Proud of you,” she says, still giggling. “You’re definitely not like those other women.”

What is it with being compared to other women?

“Yeah,” I mutter, curling onto my side.

Emma’s quiet again for a second. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… be careful. You’re not immune, Mia.”

“I am so immune.”

She snorts. “Keep telling yourself that. Anyway, when are you heading back?”

“In two days,” I say. “I want to get out of this hotel and into something more familiar. I’ll feel better once we’re in Bardstown, and I can at least be on home turf.”

“That’ll help,” she says. “We’re all excited to meet Hollywood’s favorite mess.”

I chuckle. “Don’t call him that to his face.”

“Oh, I won’t,” she says sweetly. “But I’ll be thinking it.”