But not as dramatic as her voice and her expression when she finally meets Gunner’s eyes.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Full stop. I thought that was you over here all by your lonesome,” she says and Gunner’s hand tenses against my back.

“Not by my lonesome at all,” Gunner says, offering a polite smile to her.

“Well then.” She reaches out and rests a hand on Gunner’s bicep, and I swear to God I get jealous, even though his arm is wrapped around me. “I am so glad that I saw you standing over here because I wanted to let you know that I made a pie today, and I know how very much you like my pie. I made sure to use the tartest, juiciest apples,” she all but moans. “And the sauce is gooey and warm just like every man I know likes it.”

I cough out a laugh as my eyes all but bug out of my head. She hasn’t looked my way once—she only has eyes for Gunner. And hands apparently. He’s tried to shrug his shoulder away and she just keeps her hand planted firmly around his bicep.

Gunner clears his throat when she finally stops talking about her ooey, gooey mess and how it will absolutely melt in your mouth. “Thank you, Heloisa. I appreciate the offer, but—”

“Oh come now, sugar. You know I love treating the men around here to my pie, but I know you especially love my apple,” she practically purrs. If I wasn’t seeing this with my own eyes, I would never believe a woman could be this . . . whatever she is. “I even have some apples set aside, marinating in sugar and cinnamon, so if you tell me a time you’d like to stop by, whether it be a day or in an hour or two, I can cook another pie up real quick so that when you dive into it, it’s warm and juicy and oozing with everything good and mouthwatering that you like.”

I stare, blinking at Heloisa as she flirts herself right out of her skin-tight pants and into Gunner’s.

Meanwhile, Gunner shifts on his feet and stutters, “Thank you for the offer—I’m more than appreciative, but—”

“But you’ll be by later, right?” She winks and licks her lips. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“No. I won’t. I . . .” But just as quickly as Heloisa and her warm, moist pie came into the picture, she stalks right out with her hips swinging so noticeably I’m surprised she doesn’t throw her back out.

We both stand there staring at her and shaking our heads. “What—or rather who—was that?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Oh, I’m gonna ask,” I say playfully.

“She’s harmless. Just a lonely, old widow who comes into the bar sometimes and—”

“And you entertain her so as not to be mean to her?”