Macon makes a noise, his hand on my shoulder twitching, and I know he’s about to blow again.

“Sam,” I say before he can talk. “Focus. You’ve just walked into Macon’s house without invitation. He’s asked you to leave.”

I swear to all the cooking gods, now she shows up? Now? And like this? I expected a call of warning. A “Hey, I’m back!” text. Not for her to waltz into Macon’s house as though she owns it.

Her blonde brow wings up. “Leave? When he’s been calling and texting me to come back to him for weeks?” She snorts in amusement. “I’m not leaving.”

Behind me, Macon curses. “Did we enter the twilight zone? Tell me this is the fucking twilight zone, because I swear to God that is the only explanation for your utter batshit behavior, Sam.”

Sam flushes red, and I know a shouting match is imminent.

“Sam,” I say calmly, even though I’m anything but. “Go into the kitchen, and make yourself some coffee. Now.”

I use the tone Mama does when she’s about to lay down the law. And it works. Sam gives me and Macon one long look of loathing but then lifts her chin and saunters toward the kitchen.

My heart is going like a metronome, slamming too fast against my ribs. I shouldn’t be surprised she’s here. I asked her to return. But the reality of it and seeing her outraged face when she realized I was with Macon has rattled me so much I’ve gone oddly numb.

With a sigh, I turn to Macon. Dull red paints his cheeks, and he looks about a second away from blowing. But when I place my palm to his chest, he glances down at me with eyes that are a little lost and worried.

“I didn’t ask her to come back,” he says. “I texted that I wasn’t going to look for her anymore.”

“What? When?”

He runs a hand through his damp hair. “Right before dinner with Ronan. I wanted this thing with Sam and us to be over. For us to move on.” Trepidation darkens his gaze. “I was going to tell you, but I got distracted.”

Since I know exactly how he got distracted, I can’t exactly blame him. I stroke his sweat-slicked chest, now cool in the open air. “I want that too. Let’s get dressed and deal with this.”

I’m not looking forward to it at all.

Our clothes are upstairs. We were slowly screwing our way around the house all day—all week, really. Reveling in each other, learning what turns the other on, shutting the world out. Every second of it, I fell deeper, needed him more.