I’ve forgotten what it’s like to communicate with a human being.

We stare at each other for a moment, then I say, “Thought maybe you hated me.”

“Don’t hate you,” he says, the tiniest of smiles lifting one corner of his mouth. “Anymore. Much. Unless you hate me, then I’d like to change my answer. Because you did avoid my mom when she came to the Nook to bring food when you guys came back to town.”

Oh, right. I totally did. She showed up with a ton of Greek food, and I hid upstairs. I used to eat Sunday dinner at her house every week for years. She was my second mother. Then she was gone. “Classic coward move,” I admit. “A lot of old feelings. I wasn’t sure what to say to her, and it was weird.”

“Guess we’re both fools.”

“Maybe,” I say, “but that was your mom, and this is us. You could have said, ‘Hey, Josie, let’s settle this mano a mano.’ And we could have had a fistfight back when I first came into town, or maybe a Mario Kart race, or a few hours of D&D at the North Star—”

He snorts a little laugh.

“—and then the air could’ve been cleared. But instead, I’ve been freaking out, because you barely talk to me, and I’ve been trying to figure out why, because you’re always staring—”

“Staring?”

“Look, I know it’s hard to resist the Saint-Martin beauty, and all.…” I’m joking, of course, but it’s weird how good it feels to joke with him again. Really good. Something icy in my chest is melting.

“You’re the one who’s been staring at me.”

My jaw drops. “Pardon me? I think you have that backwards. You’re the starer. I only look back at you because you instigate the staring. I’m the staree.”

He makes an amused noise in the back of his throat. “Hey, I stare at lots of things. Restored vintage motorcycles, sunsets on the beach … and trouble.”

“Oh, I’m trouble?” I say, pointing to myself. “Me?”

“Got ‘Siren’ right over your door, don’t you? Might as well add a red flashing light.”

“Oh, r-i-i-i-ight. Saint-Martins are temptresses. Never heard that one before.”

“Hey, you asked why I stare. I’m being honest. Just recognize temptation when I see it. Talented. Pretty face. Mysteriously keeps to herself. All my weaknesses.” Lucky holds out both hands loosely, palms up. “Know thine enemy.”

“Wait. Now we’re enemies instead of friends … because I have a pretty face? Pretty sure I should be insulted.”

“Why? It was a compliment.”

“Didn’t sound like a compliment.”

“Hey, I tried,” he says. “You’re probably just better at flirting than I am.”

I snort. “Oh, is that what we’re doing?”

“You tell me.…”