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I grin. “What, the Jeep isn’t enough of a hobby?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“I tinker,” I say, shrugging. “Guitars, cars, whatever’s lying around. Keeps me busy when I’m not on the road.”
“Tinkering,” she repeats with a grin. “That’s very... rustic of you.”
“You say rustic, I say practical,” I counter. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not baking or defending Agatha’s honor?”
“Lately? Notmuch,” she says, her smile fading a little. “Getting my business off the ground has taken over my life. But I like to read when I get the chance. Or watch a cheesy rom-com. The cheesier, the better.”
“Rom-coms?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“All of them,“ she says, her grin returning. “Bonus points if it’s a Hallmark Holiday movie.”
“Holiday movies in April?” I tease, shaking my head.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” she says, pointing her glass at me. “Sometimes you need a little Christmas in July—or April.”
I chuckle, leaning back in my chair. “You’re something else, Country.”
She looks at me for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You’re not so bad yourself, Sterling.”
The words are casual, but they land heavier than I expected. The air between us shifts for a second, and I feel the pull I’ve been trying to ignore since the night we met. But just as quickly as it happens, it’s gone, and she’s looking out at the ocean, the breeze catching a loose strand of her hair.
I take a long sip of my iced tea, trying to remind myself why keeping things friendly is the right call. Lila’s got enough on her plate without me adding to it. And besides, she’s been clear about where we stand for now.
Even so, it’s hard to ignore the way she fits so easily into my life, the way her laughter feels like a song I want to keep playing on repeat. I remind myself: just friends.
But damn, if being just friends with Lila isn’t becoming one of the hardest things I’ve done.
I shift in my chair, trying to focus on the sunset instead of how the fading light makes her skin glow.
“Oh!” She suddenly sits up straighter. “I almost forgot to tell you—Emily thinks she may have got me my first real private chef booking. Possibly a small corporate dinner next week.”
“That’s great!” I say, genuinely excited for her. “How many people?”
“Nine. It’s not huge, but it’s a start.” She bites her lip, and I can see a mix of excitement and nervousness in her expression. “I’m thinking of doing a Mediterranean theme. Maybe start with some mezze platters, then move to—“
She stops abruptly, blushing. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”
“Don’t apologize. I like hearing you talk about food.” And I do. The way her hands move when she describes a dish and her eyes light up when she’s planning a menu—it’s fascinating.
“Well, in that case...” She launches into her planned menu, and I find myself leaning closer, drawn in by her enthusiasm.
The sun has almost completely set when my phone chimes with a text. I glance down at it, but seeing it’s Crystal, I choose to ignore it.
Lila stands up, gathering our empty glasses. “I should go. Early morning tomorrow.”
“Right, those scones won’t bake themselves.” I stand, too. “Want me to look at Agatha this weekend?”
She hesitates, then nods. “Okay, but only if you let me cook you dinner as payment.”
“Deal.”
As she heads back to her side of the duplex, I catch myself watching the sway of her hips in those cutoff shorts. Just friends, I remind myself firmly. But then she turns back, catching me looking, and instead of her usual blush and quick look away, she holds my gaze for a moment.
“Goodnight, Luke,” she says softly.