Jennifer Lynn Armentrout

Well, you refused to taste my cookies last night and honestly, I was going to eat the other cookie, but you looked so tired and sad sitting there, I figured you needed the cookie more than I did.”

A lopsided grin appeared as he spotted us and bounded down the steps. “Hey, what are you doing with my girl?”

My girl? What? I almost tripped over my feet.

My mind went straight to where it shouldn’t have gone and my skin started to prickle. “Do what? Go home? I’m all about going home, like right now.”

“Go on a date.”

Obviously I missed an important part in this conversation.

This is a stupid conversation.”

“I like this conversation.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“I’ll ask you again.”

“My kitchen isn’t as exciting as yours.”

Each morning since the very first, Cam showed up at my door at all kinds of ungodly hours with eggs and something he’d baked. The second Sunday, it was blueberry muffins. The third Sunday it was pumpkin bread—from a box, he’d admitted. The four and the fifth Sunday, it was strawberry cake and then brownies.

“I’m not gay.”

“I’m not either, but I’d go gay for you.” Brit smiled.

“Thanks.” I giggled. “I’d go gay for you too.”

“How cute,” Jacob said. “Not the point.

“The color looks great on her, but she looks beautiful every day.”

“There’s always tomorrow.”