My phone buzzes before I have to confront how badly I just lied to myself.

Carter: You home?

Me: In my pajamas and curled up with a book. I’m trying to enjoy the calm before the chaos tomorrow.

Carter: Want to come to the door?

Frowning, I push the blanket off my lap and peek out the window. Sure enough, Carter’s Jeep is parked in front of my house. I run to the door and pull it open to find him standing on my front step, a bouquet of bright sunflowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. My stomach flip-flops, practically reaching out and dancing happy circles with my libido. I try to ignore both. Friends.

“What’s this?” I ask, pulling the door wider to let him in.

“Can’t a man bring his girlfriend flowers and wine?”

“Sure he can. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Chuckling, he heads to my kitchen, sets the wine on the counter, and opens cabinets.

I follow him and grab a vase from under the island. “The wine glasses are by the fridge.” As I reach for the flowers, the brush of our fingers sends a buzz of warmth through me—the twin to the buzz I felt when I opened the door and saw him. It’s been a long day running errands and preparing for the wedding. I should’ve been too busy to think Carter’s name . . . and yet I found myself alternating between giddy anticipation at spending my weekend with him and worries about spending it near Rich.

Every time I caught myself thinking about Jackson Harbor’s most eligible bachelor, I’d feel a little pathetic, but seeing that he’s clearly been thinking about me too? Yeah, hello, warm buzz. “Is this some sort of bribe?”

“I missed you, honey.” He makes a face. “Sweetie? Baby? Love bunny?”

I yank the flowers away and laugh. “Teagan works fine.”

“Oh, no. No one’s going to buy it if I don’t call you by some sort of endearment from time to time. What about legs? I really, really like your legs, so it would be from the heart, at least.”

I roll my eyes and pull the kitchen scissors from the drawer. “You’re not serious.”

“Well, if I called you tits, I’d make myself look like an ass.”

I snort then laugh fully when I can’t hold it back anymore. “If you called me tits, I would think you were an ass. And then I’d kick you out on your ass.”

“Then you’d call me an ass. Or a dick. See? Calling people by body parts is totally normal.”

“And widely considered offensive. Please, resist.”

“But earlobe has a nice ring to it. It’s unique. Everyone would assume there was some heartfelt story behind it.”

“Not legs, not tits, and definitely not earlobe.”

“Are you sure?” He grins. “If I recall, you rather enjoy it when I give attention to that body part.”

“I’m sure.”

He opens the drawer by the sink and pulls out a corkscrew. “What did Heath call you?”