“Oh!” Maya exclaimed. “Is that a lock pick? How FBI of you!”

“Nope. Just a Swiss Army knife.”

It was one of those ones with a bunch of different tools, and after fiddling with it for a moment, he inserted a tiny screwdriver into the lock and wiggled it around. Just like that, with a snick, the lock gave way. The door was on a track, and he pushed it to the side, removing the barrier between them.

He did not get up. Just stayed there on his knees, looking up at her. His eyes were…doing something. Sparking? Sparkling? Apparently the evening’s booze buffet had robbed her of her vocabulary.

“Yay!” Maya was celebrating. “I don’t care what you say, Sawyer, that was very FBI. And I won’t have to wake my parents, so wins all around!”

He still wasn’t making any move to get up. He was just spark-sparkling up at her while her juncture burned. What was he waiting for?

“Oh, hang on!” Maya shrieked. “You two used to date, didn’t you? I just remembered!”

That little nudge down memory lane was apparently what he’d been waiting for, because he reared back—enough that he had to reach out and grab the counter to steady himself. He was on his feet a second later, like he couldn’t get away from that reminder—from her—fast enough.

The pain that sliced through her chest was almost as strong as the pain that had doubled her over that day at the parade. The day she’d watched him glide by on the Mermaid Christmas float, his presence on the Wilkerson family store’s float a shock, then a knockout punch.

But she swallowed the pain. “It was never serious,” she lied. She needed to minimize it before he did. What do they say? History is written by the winners.

“Right.” He was a good ten feet away now, but he was still looking at her. Just as the silence was getting uncomfortable, he repeated, “It was never serious.”

Well, that stung. Even though he was only agreeing with her.

At least she’d said it first.

Not serious, his ass.

He knew why she’d said that. It was a protective measure. A logical one, given what he’d done to her. But it was a complete and utter lie. They had been on the path to forever, and they both knew it.

“Grab two flowers!” Maya ordered as Evie moved to exit the refrigerator.

“We’re not still doing it?”

“We sure as hell are.”

“It’s not even a full moon!”

“Pshaw.” Maya waved a hand dismissively. “Details.”

“It’s not going to work if it’s not a full moon!”

Hearing them argue about the finer points of the local superstition made Sawyer wonder if grown-up Evie still believed in fairy tales and magic.