When Easton’s mouth twitched a little on one side, River knew he was willing to play the game.

“She did kidnap me,” Easton said.

“No, I didn’t.” River shook her head. “You offered me the ride. If anyone was kidnapped, it was me. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“She tried to poison me with the worst coffee I’ve ever had.”

“There’s no accounting for taste.” River stole one of his fries. “Come on. Hit me where I live.”

“She told me I had to go on a date with her tonight.”

Despite herself, River couldn’t keep the offense out of her voice. “I did not. I never once pressured you—and this is not a date.”

“Food, alcohol, your being mad at me. Feels like most of my dates. If you order a salad and steal all my fries, I might as well call it what it is.”

Graham leaned on the counter, stealing Zoey’s hand. “Sounds rough, man. I’d try to save you from her, but I’m a little busy at the moment.”

Busy not helping his customers, not flipping the delicious-smelling burgers on the grill, and not even considering the french fries that currently had River drooling.

“You’re not the mayor, are you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Of course not. That’s way too much work for a guy like me.”

River felt her eyes narrow. That had rolled off his tongue far too easily. “So…if I were to say I was going to film wherever I wanted, that wouldn’t be your problem, right?”

A flinch. Ha! She had him.

“You owe me a permit.”

“Sorry, darlin’. I’m fresh out.” He gave her a charming smile. “You should ask Ashtyn Lockett. She might be able to help.”

Right. River snorted as she watched Graham completely ignoring the next person in line. “How do you even stay in business?” This man’s customer service skills were the absolute worst.

“Not without a lack of trying for the opposite. Your food’s there on the counter.”

Jessie looked horrified. “That’s ours? Dude, why didn’t you say anything?” He grabbed the tray and hustled off to the table Bree had saved for them.

Food served, Graham turned his full attention back to Zoey. The pair were adorable in their inability to focus on anything but each other. Which gave Easton a clear third wheel type of presence.

Drinking his beer with the occasional measured swig, Easton was studiously avoiding interrupting the love story happening three feet away. River was still starving, and her burger was calling her from the table, but she lingered.

“So, that reporter…”

“I’ll make a call,” Easton offered. “But my gut says Tasha’s not going to write a very nice article about you.”

“Yeah, well, she wrote a not-very-nice article about you. I couldn’t give two craps about what she says about me. So, the reporter. Tasha. How long were you two together?”

Easton raised one eyebrow of his own.