“Are you buttering me up for something?” she asked, teasing him because it was easier than confronting how her discovery made her feel about him. “Is the next stop live worms served on fishing hooks with sriracha on the side?”

“Just stating the truth.” He let his hand drop, flexing his fingers. “Come on, the taco truck down the street is the last one. It’s only a few blocks, and then there’s a car meeting us to take us home.”

“Your cousins thought of everything—or was that you?”

He grinned at her and kept walking. “I’ll leave it up to your very vivid imagination.”

Yeah, she didn’t need her imagination for this one. The guy who made her breakfast and then oiled her cast-iron pan after washing it to make sure it stayed seasoned wasn’t going to forget a detail like arranging for a way for them to get home. Chelle had spent her entire life taking care of other people. That he thought ahead enough to make sure they got home safe gave her the warm fuzzies.

They started off down Canal Street just as the first snowflakes started to fall. It was one of those weird, almost full winter nights when it was cold enough to snow and yet it still felt warm for that time of year.

Or maybe, it was just walking next to Nash that did that.

Karmel’s words about getting out of her own head and experiencing the buffet that was life went on repeat in her head. What if her friend had been right?

Really, what was the harm in giving it a try? A wild rush of anticipation went through her as she slipped her gloved hand into Nash’s. He looked over and gave her a double dimpler, then tucked their clasped hands into the pocket of his coat, warming her whole body from the inside out.

And that’s how they walked, neither of them acknowledging it out loud, the three blocks to the last food truck where they both got carne asada street tacos. They were good, but not nearly as good as the empanadas—and that would be true even if Chelle couldn’t stop thinking about all of the what-ifs and how-this-could-works.

“So,” she said as she balled up the paper her taco had been wrapped in and tossed it in the trash can, gathering up every last bit of her courage for what she was about to do next. “I’ve been thinking about your idea to change the no-sex clause in our verbal agreement, and I have a counteroffer.”

For a second, Nash just stared at what was left of his third taco, and then he looked up at her with an intensity that sent a shiver through her. “Excellent.”