Page 100 of The Difference Between

Mom coos, nearly sticking her entire head into them as she sniffs. “They’re just lovely.”

Why does that infuriate me?

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, Mother.” I give her a look that I hope she feels like a punch. I march past Gavin, climb into the passenger side of his truck, and cross my arms over my chest like a petulant child.

He is not supposed to look like that.

He is not supposed to bring flowers to my mother.

He is not supposed to be under my skin, and yet here he is, festering like an infection.

I hope he trips on a rock on his way to the truck and gets a concussion.

He and my mom gab on the porch a minute longer before he saunters my way—not tripping—and slips into the driver’s seat. His lips twitch like this is all a big joke.

My nostrils flare. Both at how hot he looks and how much he knows it. And who has eyes that bright? It’s rude.

The whole damn thing.

He starts the truck at the same time he says, “Knock, knock.”

My teeth grind. “No.”

“Knock, knock.”

Begrudgingly: “Who’s there?”

“Lettuce.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and count backward from three. I don’t want to do this. Go on this date or play this game or keep looking at him and bathing in his scent. “Lettuce who?”

He shifts the gear to drive. “Lettuce go out on a date, Miss Reese.”

And as hard as I fight it, I laugh.

I don’t know why Gavin is wearing a suit or why he owns that suit. For a man who wears T-shirts that I assume come in a package of five and the same three pairs of blue jeans on rotation, the fabric on his body is expensive.

Instead of asking him like an adult, I spend the whole drive quiet, conjuring up scenarios of where we’re going only to come up empty.

In no scenario did I expect him to park at a rustic wood building in the middle of nowhere.

I crane my neck to read the sign through the windshield and see a pig’s head next to a two-named, one-worded barbecue joint called RayNathan’s.

“You got a haircut and wore a suit for barbecue?” I get out of the truck and slam the door.

The rich scent of sugar-laced smoke fills my nose, and my mouth waters with a single breath. It reminds me of campfires in the backyard on summer nights.

“Not just barbecue.” Gavin steps next to me and offers his arm. “And I’m wearing the suit because you like it.”

I scoff, looping my arm around his and letting him guide me toward the restaurant. He smells spicy—like soap and cologne—and his hair—even though it’s been cut—is still long enough to fall into his face. I want to twist a lock of it around my finger. “I never said that.” Except wordlessly with the way I eye fucked the hell out of him when he walked in my mother’s house. “So now you just look like a fool.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Either way—” He pauses at the door, and I’m forced to reorient myself with his face. It’s a damn good face that I wish he’d go back to hiding. And his lips, now fully on display without a whisker to hide them . . . dammit. “You like the suit⁠—”

“No, I don’t. I⁠—”

He puts a hand to my mouth and leans his face close to mine, lowering his voice to say, “You do. And I’m glad you do. Because I like you, Reese. A lot.”

I fall silent. Because it almost sounds like Baby, we like you.