I shrugged. “I … needed some fresh air?”

He raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Anyway, who wants to talk about my boring, utterly stock standard Saturday night?” I said in a rush, standing and trotting over to him, poking him in the stomach. “I’m not the one who went on a hot date last night and didn’t come home until after lunch!”

Ezra tried to hold onto his stern facade. That lasted for all of a millisecond before a bashful grin split his adorably freckled face, and he pulled me into a cuddle. “I really, really like him, Jem!”

“Well, I knew that already, your tongue was tied in a knot the first time you met him! So …” I sat down, shoving my crocheting aside, and patted the seat beside me with a smirk. “Did you get any stem-in-vase action?”

He bit his lip, shaking his head and collapsing into the seat beside me. “I actually like him too much to rush into … that … but we did get a bit tongue-tied together last night … and again this morning.”

I giggled. “Oooh, I’m already picturing the wedding! Can Luci be your flower girl?” I half teased. A little niggle twinged in the pit of my stomach, but I ignored it.

Ezra deserved to find someone. Even if it took him away from me.

“She would look absolutely stunning in a little pink Cinderella gown. Handmade by you, of course!”

“And … I’ll be your best bitch, yes?” I asked.

He smiled softly down at me, pulling me back into his lanky arms. “You will always be my best bitch, Jem. Now, I need to shower, and then we need to hit the supermarket, because that fridge is not filling itself!”

The front door rattled again.

I shot to my feet, heart leaping into my throat, but Ezra was already up and striding towards the door.

Oh shit.

What if it was … him? There was no way in … in Hell that I needed to be explaining this to Ezra. I’d gotten myself into one giant pickle, and the last thing I needed was to get my best friend caught up in it, too!

“You go shower, I’ll see to that,” I babbled.

Ezra’s nose wrinkled, confused. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s on the way to the bathroom!”

He took another step towards the front door, and another.

“Don’t answer it!” I shrieked, launching myself over my giant yarn basket with the agility of a show-jumping mare, galloping to put myself between the door and Ezra.

He pulled up just shy of running into me. “What is going on with you, Jem?” he asked, his brow knitted in concern. “You hate answering the door.”

“I … I’m, uh, expecting a delivery. You know, a surprise … for you.”

“Oh,” he said, blinking. His head turned to the small key table beside the door, and his brows rose. “Where’s the vase you bought from Humphrey?”