Page 43 of The Charm of You

“But, um, before I go, can I talk to you?” I flick my gaze toward Bo, who stares intently back at us. The guy does not even attempt to be subtle with his eavesdropping. I face Austin again and add, “Outside?”

Grunting, he holds his arm out for me to lead the way, and I put one designer heel in front of the other with more difficulty than usual. It’s not because my feet are sore from my shoes, either. I mean, they are, especially after my brisk walk to Cream and Sugar and back, but they’re the least of my concerns at the moment.

I feel Austin’s eyes on me.

I’m covered up from head to toe, but my skin still sizzles under his piercing gaze as if I’ve been lying out in the sun too long.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says. “I’d prefer we didn’t. In fact, we should pretend it didn’t happen.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “That’s what I was going to say.”

“Now you don’t have to.”

Unease swirls through my stomach, urging me to play defense. The fact that he says this first is wildly unsatisfying. It actually feels more like a rejection, but I don’t believe he wants to forget this. Nothing about the intense way he scrutinizes me indicates he wants to pretend our kiss never happened.

Nothing about the kiss itself indicates as much, either.

I can’t figure this guy out, and it bugs the shit out of me. What is his deal?

“I’m not agreeing with you because it wasn’t a damn good kiss, of course.” I step toward him, and with every inch of distance I remove between us, his jaw further sets. “It’s just that I turned down a marriage proposal less than twenty-four hours ago, and moving on to the first guy who grunts at me wouldn’t be fair. You know?”

“Makes sense,” he bites out, and his steely exterior cracks. “Besides, I don’t make a habit of putting my hands on pretty faces who bring me nothing but grief.”

My heart skips across my chest the way I used to across a field on a sunny day. “You think I’m pretty?”

Another crack in his previously stone-cold façade. “You know you’re pretty,” he says in a lower octave.

“I like hearing you say it,” I whisper.

He rams his hand through his hair and mutters a curse like he’s warring with himself. “My life was fine before you waltzed back to town. Before this weekend, everything was the same as it had been for years, and it was perfect. Then you show up with your doe eyes and soft lips and city girl attitude, and you won’t stop fucking with me.”

“I’m not fucking with you, Austin,” I say evenly, but it does nothing to alleviate his tortured expression.

It’s obvious that he doesn’t believe me, and the realization stings. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. All I’ve done is screw things up with him. Even though it hasn’t been clear, I have tried, damn it, and it still hasn’t been good enough.

“You’re trouble, Homecoming Queen, and I don’t do trouble.” He brushes past me but stops next to the door, his heavy sigh carrying over to me. “Do you need a ride or something?”

His mother did, in fact, teach him a few manners.

“No, thanks,” I say without turning around. “Mama should be done with work. She can swing by and pick me up.”

There’s hesitation behind me, and when I hear the door finally close, I let out the breath I was holding.

But it doesn’t bring me relief.

chapter

thirteen

AUSTIN

“Who was that angel?” Bo hustles to match my step as I storm back into the shop, abandoning Caroline on the other side of the door. “And do you think she’d go for that snow cone with me? I thought about it some more, and it would be damn cute, don’t you think? Just me and her?—”

“I hate to break it to you, Bo, but even if you two were closer in age, she’d still be way out of your league. So put your eyes back into their sockets.”

“You’re not wrong, but what’s the story here? Seriously.” He jumps in front of me, and I almost barrel through him. “Are you two a thing?”

I grimace. “No. We are not a thing.”

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