“It probably would’ve been more upsetting if I had to back out.” My cheeks heat at the unexpected burst of honesty. I keep my attention on the road as I start to navigate my way out of his temporary neighborhood. “I haven’t hit any trails in months. I’m looking forward to this, though be warned, there’s a staircase that will kill your hamstrings.”

“Hopefully CrossFit has prepared me,” he says, and his deep laugh fills every inch of my Jeep when I groan.

“Wow! Already going there.” I take one hand off the steering wheel and give his shoulder a light shove. “I hope you know that I will turn this car around if you start talking about WODs.”

“I had to get one in since I know how much you love it.” His voice is still vibrating with laughter and I decide I have to risk a quick glance his way. Just one second to indulge in a close-up view of his perfect smile. But when I turn to see him, I have to fight to regain my breath when his stunning eyes are staring back at me, all his attention focused on me.

Holy crap.

Nobody should be this good-looking.

“So . . .” I struggle to think of something to talk about that doesn’t include me waxing poetic about the way his eyes rival oceans. “I started the first book on your list.”

“You did?” He sounds surprised even though it was part of our deal. “How are you feeling about it so far?”

“I like it.” I don’t tell him that I’m only a quarter of the way through the book. It’s good so far, but this could change when their problems magically disappear by the end. “I like the main characters. They’re a mess . . . which is relatable.”

“It is relatable, but you’re not a mess.” There’s a seriousness that has crept into his tone and knocks me off guard a bit.

“That’s very nice of you to say, but I’m a certified hot mess. I mean, I was two hours late for this, you saw me at the Book Nook when I couldn’t even find your books, and we won’t even talk about the way I broke down at dinner.” I list off a few examples he’s been witness to, realizing in the moment that reminding him of these events is just more proof of me being a total freaking disaster. “I’m okay with it though. I think everybody’s lives can be a bit messy at times. Some people get hot-girl summers, I have hot-mess-girl summers. It, too, shall pass.” Hopefully.

He barks out a laugh and I’m relieved to hear it. “Did you just say hot-mess-girl summer?”

“Me and Megan Thee Stallion are basically the same person . . . minus the rhythm, body, and bank account.” I name some of our differences.