I lean my face toward his. "Are we keeping score?"

His face falls. "No. But I'm tired of getting things wrong."

The hairs on my neck rise. I inquire, "What have you gotten wrong?"

"Pretty much everything," he claims.

A lump forms in my throat. I put my fork down. I cautiously ask, "Do you want to clarify that statement?"

He picks up my hand and holds it in front of me. "I think this says it all, don't you?"

Guilt eats at me. I shake my head, asserting, "It's a beautiful ring."

"But it's not you, is it?" he insists.

"I wouldn't say—"

"Don't lie to me, Georgia."

"I wonder how old she is. She looks pretty young compared to him," the brunette in the booth says in a loud voice.

I tear my eyes off Sebastian, wondering how people can be so rude.

Sebastian states, "Ignore those hags. Answer my question. Honestly."

I turn back, and it pains me to look at him. I can tell he's upset, but I also can see he doesn't want me to lie. So I choose my words carefully and reply, "I'm not a flashy kind of gal."

His lips curl up. He takes my hand and kisses it. "Yeah, I love that about you."

I freeze, as does he. Heated tension grows between us.

Did Sebastian Cartwright just say he loved something about me?

It's just a statement. Don't confuse it with actual love.

He's not in love with me.

"What do you think the prenup says?" the redhead questions.

I glare at her again, shaking my head. Then I lean into Sebastian, inquiring, "Do you know those women?"

"Unfortunately so," he mutters.

"Well, tell me their dirt," I order and shove another bite of pecan pie in my mouth.

He pretends that he's in shock.

I chew, swallow, and ask, "What?" I take another sip of water.

He taunts in my ear, "Little Miss Sunshine wants to gossip?"

Zings fly to my core. I reply, "Sure. Why not? If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," I declare, then hold up a fork of pecan pie under his nose. He opens his mouth, but I shove it in mine.

He chuckles. "You're evil."

I shrug, finish my bite, and command, "Spill it, Cartwright."

Amused, he glances at the table. He sits back, slings his arm around my shoulder, and tugs me into his chest. He quietly informs me, "The red-haired lady is Holly. She got so drunk one year at a holiday party that she screwed the other town drunk, who dresses up as Santa every year. So now everyone calls her Ho-Ho-Holly."

"No!" I laugh so hard, tears fill my eyes.

"I'm not joking."

"That's horrible," I say and continue to laugh.

"Wait until you hear the brunette's story."

"Do tell."

His lips brush my ear, and I shiver as he states, "Casey's husband left her for another man."

"Oh, that's sad," I say, feeling sorry for her.