A minute later, Ward returned with the hummus, a bag of mini whole wheat pitas, and one of the strawberry margarita sparkling waters I liked. He set the armful down on the little table before lifting me to stand. Stealing my spot, he situated me on his lap before snagging a blanket that I hadn’t noticed was folded over the back of the couch.

“You knew I’d come over,” I accused. But I did it while tearing into the pitas.

“Hoped.”

“Mm-hmm.” My skeptical murmur turned into a pleasurable one when the spicy, briny, creamy goodness hit my tongue. “Oh my God, this is so good. What brand is it?”

“Homemade.”

I whipped around to look at him. “You made this?”

“No, Swedish did. But I know how to now.”

“First the fried chicken, then the waffles, and now this. He’s going to ruin me for all other food.”

“I’ll bring you around the clubhouse so you can tell him that yourself. He’ll take one look at you and be sending meals like he’s your personal chef.”

“I’d be okay with that,” I said around an unladylike mouthful.

“Hope you’ll be okay to actually come inside my house to eat it next time ’cause it’s getting too fuckin’ cold for fires.”

“Cold is kinda the best time for a fire, isn’t it?”

“Not if you get sick.”

“It’s fall, not winter in Antarctica,” I pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about it again because this was a one-time thing.” He opened his mouth, but I quickly amended, “A two-time thing.”

Like the night before, he repeated, “Whatever you say, neighbor.”

Ignoring his smug smile and the fact I liked said smug smile, I snacked away. “I love spicy food.”

“I know.”

He knows.

Of course he does.

“Except the heartburn.”

Shifting me to the side, he pulled something out of his pocket and set it on the table.

Antacids.

“I know,” he repeated.

Not just does he know.

He knows.

And not just am I in big trouble.

I’m in huge trouble.

18. Teddy Bears Are Always Watching

CHAPTER 18

TEDDY BEARS ARE ALWAYS WATCHING

MAC

“Stop leaving your door unlocked,” Ward said as he walked inside my house.

Even though I’d insisted that we stop spending time together, I’d figured he would ignore me. Hell, I’d already ignored me.

So while I wasn’t surprised to see him on Sunday, I was surprised it’d taken him so long.

“Stop walking into my house then,” I shot back from my spot on the couch, as if I didn’t purposely unlock the door right around dinnertime.

“Get me a key, neighbor, and I won’t have to.”

A key?