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“Ready to go?” Jesse asks.
“Go? Go where?”
“Out?”
“Out where?”
“You know, out,” Jesse says. “Like out there. Into the wilderness. I was thinking maybe we go fucking glamping under the stars.”
“That’s—”
“I’m kidding. You should see your face, though,” Jesse says.
“I hate you.”
His grin falters for a millisecond. “We’ve got to talk brass tacks. If we’re doing this, there’s a lot we need to arrange. Let’s do it over dinner.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Dinner.”
“Yeah. The thing people eat. With knives and forks. Or their hands.” He opens and closes his mouth, pointing toward it. “Ingestion. Digestion. That kind of thing.”
“The only thing I’m digesting is my doubts about this agreement.”
Jesse clicks his fingers.
“Ah! That’s what we should discuss. A contract.”
“A contract.”
“You’re going to have to stop repeating everything I say. I get you’re like my biggest fan, but you’re starting to sound like a parrot.”
“I’m merely repeating the sheer stupidity so you can hear it from a fresh perspective.”
“Touche.”
Jesse scoots off his chair and beckons for me to follow him.
It occurs to me that Jesselikesour verbal jousts, but I dismiss the thought.
“I need to get dressed. Can’t go out there looking like this,” I say, slipping off my apron. “If I’m going to be a deputy’s fake fiancée.”
“Wife,” Jesse says, and my skin prickles. “And no, you don’t… you look…” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Fine.”
“Such a charmer.”
I glance down at my strappy top covered in flowers and my jeans.
He holds out a hand.
I walk past him.
Out in the street, I lock up the diner, my heart pounding at the thought of running into that guy again. I double-checked that the kitchen door was locked today. The police said there was no sign of forced entry, so I’ve given Grant strict instructions to keep it locked.
Jesse opens the passenger side door of his squad, and I want to run for the fucking hills. Nausea washes over me.
“Hey,” he says. “We can go in your car if?—”
