Page 18 of The Snuggle Is Real

I press both palms to the glass.

"Malcolm," I whisper reverently.

"No."

Now I glance back at him and frown. "I didn't even say anything."

"Your face said something. We're late to meet my mother." He puts a hand on my back to try to steer me along.

Then he immediately pulls it away, like my flesh scalded him.

I don't comment. But Rule four is barely holding. Barely.

“Trotting out your mother and manners is really rude when I’m faced with pumpkin nirvana,” I tell him.

“If I let you go in there you may never come out.”

I give what I consider an appropriate response to that bit of rudeness—I scoff. It’s a great scoff and I’m proud of it.

Dinky's Diner smells like bacon grease, burnt coffee, and maple syrup. The bell over the door jangles. Every head in the place turns.

“Movie set,” I murmur under my breath.

There's a chalkboard by the register. At the top, in yellow chalk, it says FALL FEST PIE-OFF: APPLE VS. PUMPKIN. CAST YOUR VOTE. Below that are two columns of tally marks.

Apple is winning, thirty-one to twenty-six.

“Is this fixed?” I sputter. “There is literally no way apple is winning by a five vote margin.”

I don’t even hesitate. I grab the chalk off the ledge and draw a thick, emphatic line under the pumpkin column.

"Nope," a man says from behind the counter. He doesn't look up from the grill. "Ordering customers only. That vote's invalid."

"I'm going to order!"

"Then you can vote after." He points his spatula at the chalk. "Erase it."

I turn to Malcolm for support. “Back me up.”

"The man has a process," he says.

"You are a traitor to this relationship."

"I'm an apple voter. I was never on your side."

I erase the line with the side of my fist, glaring at him the whole time. “I take it that’s Dinky?” I ask under my breath. “Doesn’t look like the name fits him.”

“That’s Buddy. There is no Dinky.” He pulls a stool out for me. “And this is Lucy McIntyre, Buddy’s stepmother. Good morning, Lucy.”

I notice as I take my seat that Mrs. Lennox isn’t in the diner yet. I turn and smile at Lucy McIntyre. She has hot pink hair and is wearing a cardigan with rhinestone leaves sewn all over it that catch the light every time she lifts her teacup.

Not too early for rhinestones in Wanted. Duly noted.

She beams at us. "Well, if it isn't the lovebirds from the Harvest Suite."

Damn. I need coffee for this.

"How do you know which room we're in?" Malcolm asks.