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“I’m not dragging anything.” I pout. “We’re just friends. Good friends.”

“Okay. Live in denial. What do I care?” She shrugs, leaning back in her seat.

“I’m not living in denial.”

“No?”

“No.”

That sparkle returns to Sienna’s watercolor eyes before she turns them on Paige.

“Paige, you spend a lot of time at the diner, right?” She nods. “How many times did you see Milo there? Just because.”

“Ooh, I like this game.” Paige rubs her hands together conspiratorially. “When are we talking about? Since school started or this past summer?”

“I’m not picky,” Sienna says, still watching me.

“If we’re talking about summer, then every time. I’d head there to meet Kody after closing up the garage, and Milo was already there. Every. Single. Time.”

“Is that so?” Sienna asks. “Was he having dinner there?”

“Nope.” Paige pops the p, apparently loving this game. “Just sitting on one of the stools, pretending to talk to Kody and Dylan while never taking his eyes off Max working, waiting for any opportunity to talk to her.”

My head snaps toward Paige. “You’re exaggerating. That’s not what happened.”

She gives me a look that says otherwise.

I chew my inner cheek, wondering if any of what Paige just said has some truth to it.

“See? Denial,” Sienna blurts out, throwing her hands in the air.

I’m still all in my head when Paige takes my hand in hers. “The boy has it bad for you, babe. How have you not figured that out yet?”

I don’t respond.

I mean… there have been signs.

Little, sweet things Milo does that sometimes make me wonder if maybe he likes me as more than just a friend.

Like walking me home from work. Especially during the summer, since that’s when I get Betty to give me the closing shift. Closing the diner always pays better, so I try to snag that shift whenever I can.

I have a driver’s license but no car, which means most nights after closing the diner at midnight, I have a twenty-minute walk ahead of me.

Not that I mind. I’ve been walking around Fairhope my entire life, and I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home.

Milo, apparently, disagrees. No matter what he has going on at night, he somehow always finds his way to the diner around closing time. And every night, he walks me home.

I never asked him to. I certainly didn’t need a chaperone. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the company. Especially since our twenty-minute walk somehow always turned into an hour.

We’d talk about everything and nothing, taking the long way home or stopping somewhere along the way because neither of us seemed in any particular hurry to get there.

Then, when we finally reached my house, we’d sit on the steps and talk some more. And when it got too late, Milo would walk me all the way to my door, kiss my cheek, and wish me good night.

Every single time.

But that’s just Milo being Milo. He’s always been sweet and kind like that.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, does it?