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He puts up a finger. “Not so. Peter does appear to be fast-tracking a best-man friendship.”

I laugh. “He and Genie are a match made in heaven, I tell ya. They’re a heck of a hospitality force.”

“He told me about a piece of property behind his lot. I think he’s trying to get me to buy a fifty-acre farm.”

We both laugh this time. “You’d need to get a whole new wardrobe.”

“I’d need to get a whole new life.”

My smile fades ever so slightly, a reminder of how silly it is to even hope for anything here.

“Can you imagine?” I say with a little breathy laugh.

But to my surprise he doesn’t laugh it off right away.

He’s grinning too, but something shifts in his eyes as his voice changes. “Yeah. Maybe.”

I don’t know what he means by that vague response, and he doesn’t offer up any more on the topic, so I let it go. I pretend it’s because I’m not a prier, but deep down, I think it’s because I like living in this little fantasy world with him right now, and I don’t want to face the reality that he is going to be leaving in a week forever.

I don’t think I really have the heart to hear him say, “It’s a fun idea, but seriously . . .”

So I change the subject. “Tell me about your book.”

He flips it over, and the back cover makes it look infinitely more boring. “Just investing stuff. I read nonfiction most of the time.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I do find diversifiable risk riveting.”

“I’m at a good part in my book too. Only it involves a guy about to hand over a runaway puppy to the girl.”

“Ah. The meet-cute. That’s how I attract most women.”

“You keep a runaway puppy on hand?”

“Naturally. Or if they’re the more intelligent, adventurous, beautiful type”—he holds up his book—“I wear whatever outfit she picked out for me and bring a good book.”

Nerves bubble out of me at the obviously flirtatious comment.

Come on, Chloe. Pull it together.

This grown-up, put-together man is without a doubt flirting with me, and I’m going to give away just how unprepared and incapable I am to be with someone like him.

I’m too close to the heat. Not the fire, but the directness of him sitting here close to me. It’s so honest. I can’t do it.

I can’t be honest too.

In a mental scramble, I reach for something, anything, to say that might slightly pivot our conversation. I don’t need a full U-turn—just a tiny pivot that lets us linger here without it being overwhelming. I’m burning inside.

“Well,” I say, turning my gaze toward a distraction in the distance that isn’t really there. “There’s the gaping hole in your style, James. Seems rule number one in the game is to never tell the girl you’re trying to impress with a book that you’re trying to impress her. With a book.” I take the book from his hands and flip through. “Have you even read this before? Or is this something you just keep handy in case of a potential meet-cute? Also, I have to say, I’d recommend against announcing the many women you flirt with when you’re in the middle of flirting.”

There. This is more teasing. Taking on an instructor role as we talk about the ways of women generally, and consequently distancing myself as the subject of conversation.

It’s also an out for him. A chance for him to take my advice as a friend and say, Oh yes. Thanks for that. I got carried away for a second flirting with you when I obviously didn’t really mean to. Thank for redirecting me back.

I am, if nothing else, terrific at a low-esteem cop-out.

“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I figured you knew I didn’t really have any puppies,” he says, his voice dipping lower, gentler. “That maybe I’m just out here for you.”