But Conner, it seemed, wasn’t about to make that easy for her. “I’m still puzzling about one thing,” he said, changing the subject. “That powwow in the kitchen, the three of you with the door closed. What was that all about?”

“Girl talk. If we’d wanted you to know, we wouldn’t have closed the door.”

“Understood.” Conner drove in silence for a couple of blocks, then spoke again. “But when you came out, I could tell that something was bothering you—and I had a feeling that it might be me.”

“You were imagining things. Everything was—is—fine.” Megan stumbled through her fudged reply. She hadn’t expected him to be so intuitive, or so direct.

“Is it?” he asked. “If you’ll pardon the metaphor, I’m a man who believes in ‘taking the bull by the horns.’ If you heard something about me in that kitchen, I’d like an equal chance to explain myself.”

Megan sighed. She was cornered. There was only one way out—tell the truth. But she wasn’t about to tell him everything.

“It doesn’t matter, not really,” she said. “After all, we agreed to be just friends and have a good time.”

“So tell me, Megan,” he said.

“All right.” She shifted in the seat, turning slightly to face him. “I was told that you’d fallen head over heels for that singer at the Christmas Ball, and you were stacking all your hopes on the chance that she’d show up again, so you could meet her.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Not that I care. I don’t own you, Conner. If you’ve fallen for another woman, that’s none of my business. It’s just that . . .” She groped for the right words.

“ ‘Just that,’ what?” He turned onto Main Street. Twinkling Christmas lights shed glowing colors through the windshield.

“Just that it’s so . . . so stupid! You don’t even know her. Just because she’s pretty and can sing, that doesn’t mean she’s a nice person.”

“You sound as if you know something I don’t. You’re from Nashville. Do you know her?”

Megan winced. The question had hit close to home. “I know the type, that’s all,” she said. “Some women will do anything to get ahead in the business, even pretend to be someone they’re not. And they don’t care who they hurt. Sorry, I don’t mean to be judgmental. It’s just that you’re a nice guy. I don’t want to see you get your heart broken.”

“Thanks for your concern. I mean it.” He swung the Jeep around the corner, onto a narrow, unlit side street. “But it’s my heart. It’s been broken and mended before. And if it happens again, at least I’ll be able to say that I took a chance.”