Sleeping … Didn’t Rachel say sleeping and mating are the same thing? Dating and mating are similar. But sleeping and mating are the exact same. He shakes his head. “No, ma’am.”

She raises a no-nonsense brow. “Why not? What’s wrong with my daughter?”

That is unexpected. He suspects this woman can sense a lie like Toraf can track Rayna. All she’s looking for is honesty, but the real truth would just get him arrested. I’m crazy about your daughter—I’m just saving her for my brother. So he seasons his answer with the frankness she seems to crave. “There’s nothing wrong with your daughter, Mrs. McIntosh. I said we’re not sleeping together. I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

She inhales sharply and releases him. Clearing her throat, she smoothes out his wrinkled shirt with her hand, then pats his chest. “Good answer, Galen. Good answer.”

Emma flings open the garage door and stops short. “Mom, what are you doing?”

Mrs. McIntosh steps away and stalks to the counter. “Galen and I were just chitchatting. What took you so long?”

Galen guesses her ability to sense a lie probably has something to do with her ability to tell one. Emma shoots him a quizzical look, but he returns a casual shrug. Her mother grabs a set of keys from a hook by the refrigerator and nudges her daughter out of the way, but not before snatching the paper out of her hand. She turns in the doorway. “Oh, and Galen?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Have your mother call me so I can get her number programmed into my phone.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You kids have a good time. I won’t be home until late, Emma. But you’ll be home by nine, sweetie. Won’t she, Galen?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Neither Emma nor Galen say anything until they hear the car pull out of the driveway. Even then, they wait a few more seconds. Emma leans against the fridge. Galen is growing fond of hiding his hands in his pockets.

“So, what did you two chitchat about?” she asks as if uninterested.

“You first.”

She shakes her head. “Uh-uh. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He nods. “Good. Me neither.”

For a few seconds, they look at everything in the room but each other. Finally, Galen says, “So, did you want to go change—”

“That idea is fan-flipping-tastic. Be right down.” She almost breaks into a run to get to the stairs.

9

WE PULL into his cobblestoned driveway, and I have to lean back in the seat to take in the whole thing. The beach house of my dreams. Four stories, maybe five—depending if that square on top is a room or not. All wood, painted sea green with white shutters. A huge front porch complete with white rocking chairs and matching wooden planters overflowing with red pansies. A wrought-iron gate leads to the back, which must overlook the beach—we drove so deep into the woods I thought we would hit water before we found his house.

“Nice shack,” I tell him.

“Trade you.”

“Any day.”

“Really? You like it?” He seems genuinely pleased.

“What’s not to like?”

He stands back and studies it as if for the first time. He nods. “Huh. Good to know.”

We climb the three steps on the porch, but I grab his arm as he reaches for the door handle. The contact sends heat through my body, toasting me to the core. “Wait.”

He pauses mid-motion and stares at my hand. “What? Is something wrong? You’re not changing your mind are you?”

“No. I just … have to tell you something.”

“What?”

I force a nervous laugh. “Well, the good news is, you don’t have to worry about me rejecting you anymore.”

He shakes his head. “That is good news. But you say it like it’s not.”

I take a deep breath. Where is a good lightning bolt when you need one? Because even if I take a hundred deep breaths, this will still be humiliating.…

“Emma?”

“I told my mom we were dating,” I blurt. There. Doesn’t that feel better? Nope. Nope, it doesn’t.

While his smile surprises me, it mostly mesmerizes me beyond rational thought. “Are you kidding?” he says.

I shake my head. “It’s the only thing she would believe. So now … now you have to pretend that we’re dating if you come to my house. But don’t worry, you don’t ever have to go over there again. And in a few days, I’ll pretend that we broke up.”

He laughs. “No, you won’t. I told her the same thing.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Why? What’d I say?”

“No, I mean, did you really tell her that? Why would you do that?”

He shrugs. “Same reason you did. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

The realization that we could have had the same conversation with my mother makes this pretty porch spin. Then this pretty porch gets black spots all over it. When we were little, Chloe and I used to spin each other around and around in my father’s office chair. One time, she whirled me so fast and for so long that when I stood up, I walked in the exact opposite direction I meant to. As kids, we found that hilarious, like inhaling helium to talk like a chipmunk. Now though, it’s just not as entertaining. Especially since Galen’s face just disappeared behind a black spot. “Oh, no.”

“Emma? What’s wrong?”