His smirk, his physical presence, the shared memory of that moment in the kitchen—it’s all making me a bit squirrely. Which is why I jump into motion and shoot out of my vehicle.

“They’re fine,” I say simply before slamming the door in his face. Desperate for fresh air and a new topic of conversation.

Actually, an entirely different partner for conversation.

Come to think of it, maybe no conversation at all would be best.

But he follows. The car door slams and his feet crunch against the grit on the parking lot. I can feel the weight of his presence pressing in behind me.

“I’m starving,” I announce. “I can’t think…” I trail off before I can say something stupid, but my inner dialogue finishes the sentence anyway.

When you’re sitting that close to me.

I shake the thought away. It’s not true.

“Yeah, I could hear that much,” he quips, still following me. His palm lands on the small of my back when we stop at the diner’s door, and he reaches over my shoulder to open it for me. His chest brushes against my back as he does.

I draw in a sharp breath and scoot through the entryway, trying to create a little distance. Part of me hopes that he’s just making sure I get in the door before heading home on his own.

But when we walk in, Martha’s head pops up, her salt-and-pepper bob swaying with the motion as she greets me from behind the cash register, “Hey, doll, table for… two?”

I’m ready to say No, he’s leaving, but Emmett beats me to the punch with another touch to my waist and a surprising, “Yes, please.”

Martha looks far too happy. Her eyes crinkle at the sides, showing at least fifty years of smiling. “A cowboy businessman, huh,” she murmurs appreciatively while looking Emmett over with an amused tilt to her lips. Like I chose to bring him here with me. Dressed like this.

Then, without another word, she holds up two menus with a quick grin before turning and waving them over her shoulder as a signal for us to follow along.

Emmett’s strong hand on my back urges me forward as he leans down and jokingly whispers, “Let’s go, doll.”

His breath fans across my neck, chasing a shiver down my spine as we proceed into the quiet diner.

Martha tosses the menus on the table of a booth next to the window and walks away. But not before tossing me a saucy wink accompanied by, “Two coffees coming right up.”

With a heavy sigh, I slide onto the red pleather bench across from Emmett.

“Coffee? At this time of night? Are we pulling an all-nighter, Baby Silva?”

“The Baby Silva thing has got to go,” I mutter, staring out the window into the night as cars flash past, barreling away from the diner. I’m almost jealous. It would be nice to escape this late-night rendezvous.

Especially when Emmett smirks at me the way he is right now. “You’re right. I’ve seen your ass now, so that nickname has probably run its course.”

Okay. Funny. But I don’t want to egg him on, so I don’t react. Instead, I glare at him.

That’s how Martha finds us when she returns with two cups of piping hot black coffee. “Here we go.” She plunks them on the table. “The usual for you, Jules?”

“Yep,” I say, not looking away from Emmett.

“And for you?” she asks Emmett.

“He’s not staying,” I provide for him, but he chuckles.

“Of course I am. I’ll have whatever she’s having.” He turns and blinds Martha with his most charming smile. And even she isn’t immune—she walks away fanning herself with exaggerated flair.

Abandoning me with Emmett like a total traitor.

“What if you don’t like what I’m having?”

He shrugs. “I will.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I’ll acquire a taste.”

“Why?”

“Just to impress you.”

My eyes narrow. “Why?”

“Just to piss your brother off.”

I snort at that. “Yeah. That would do it.”

Emmett looks pleased, his eyes scouring me carefully. He doesn’t respond, though. He watches me, gaze pausing on my mouth for longer than is truly appropriate.

“Why do you hate my brother so much?” I blurt out the question that has plagued me for the past several weeks. Now that I have a better feel for Emmett, I can’t reconcile these two different versions of him.

His palms envelop the coffee mug as he spins it a couple of times before he shrugs. “I don’t hate your brother.”

When he peeks up at me, I lift a disbelieving brow.

“What? I don’t. Hate is a strong word. I just can’t relate.”

My head tips, his explanation piquing my interest. “How so?”

“He’s… he’s so happy. All the fucking time.”

I bark out a sharp laugh. “He’s always been like that.”

Emmett’s lips twitch as he glances out the window. “And he’s got your dad. This amazing legacy on the circuit. Like sport royalty. And I’ve got… Carl.”

“I mean, our dad is dead, so there’s that.”

Emmett’s dry chuckle rumbles through the air between us. “Sometimes that’s not the worst type of parent you can have.”

My lips press together as I realize what I’ve just said. It’s not as though Emmett hasn’t endured his fair share of loss, too.

“Maybe I’m jealous of him,” he finally admits as he spins his mug, staring at the steam wafting up from the hot black liquid.

I blink at the beautiful man sitting across from me. He’s gone from talking about my ass to being incredibly introspective in a matter of minutes. And all it does is draw me in. That complexity, that inconsistency… it only makes me want to dig deeper. To uncover all his secrets—wounds and wins.

I can’t help but want to know Emmett better.

“And what about Rhett?” I inquire about my brother’s mentor and closest friend, who I adore. I know he loathes Emmett with an unmatched passion.

“Eaton?”

“Yeah.”

Emmett’s tongue pops into his cheek as his head joggles. “You ever look at someone and immediately hate their stupid face for no good reason?”

Yeah. Evelyn. I brush the invasive thought away and settle on a nod. Because yes, I have.

“You sure it’s not because Theo’s girlfriend decided she wanted to wear Rhett’s hat and not yours?”

Emmett scoffs, a raspy laugh rumbling in his chest. “Only did that to piss him off. And guess what? It worked.”

“It also got him a wife.” I wink.

“See? I’m the matchmaker he owes everything to, and that asshole didn’t even invite me to his wedding.”

I laugh. I can’t help myself. The guy is fucking unflappable. He oozes a self-assured confidence that most men could only hope to embody.

“Anyway, just can’t stand the guy even though there isn’t anything objectively wrong with him.” Emmett shakes his head as he gazes off into space. “Other than that hair, like fucking cowboy Fabio.”

I can’t help but laugh. Rhett’s signature has always been his long hair. “At least you’re honest.”

“Always,” he replies, gaze slicing back to meet mine. “That’s why I have you in my phone as Theo’s Hot Little Sister.”

And we’re back to this. Whiplash.

My cheeks flush unbidden, and I try to cover them by lifting my mug up and taking an overly long drink.

“Does that not ruin your sleep?” He nods toward the plain white mug I’ve wrapped both hands around.

“Nah. Not anymore. I think I’m immune. I’ve spent almost every night here for the past couple of years studying with a steady stream of the stuff.”

“Almost every night?”

“Not since I took this job. But to wrap up my master’s program? Yeah. Seven nights a week, basically. After working at the ice cream shop in the afternoons and evenings. Unless I was sick.”

“That’s an exaggeration.” He sounds amused.

I press my lips together and raise one shoulder. “Not really.”

“So you bring all your dates here?” he quips with a flirtatious wink.

Dates. “No. I avoid that like the plague.” Now it’s my turn to look out the window with a rough laugh.