“My mom once told me that love doesn’t make sense.” As soon as I said the words, I winced, feeling like a sentimental fool. I was never sentimental. But I pushed on. “Falling for someone isn’t about logic. It’s chemistry.”

She was quiet for a second. When she answered, she sounded softer than before. “That’s … well, that’s surprisingly romantic.”

Don’t go there, honey.

“Yeah, well, it’s a good line of attack. I’ll tell them …” I rubbed my neck and stared out the grimy window where the sun shone down on the black tar rooftops. “I’ll tell them I was on my way to meet my brother for a drink.”

She snorted loudly.

I bit back a grin. “I was late and in a hurry so I wasn’t watching where I was going. You were walking out of the door. I was going in. We collided. And there I was, my hands full of this irate little pixie with the prettiest brown eyes I’d ever seen. How could I resist? So I asked you to join me for a drink to make up for nearly plowing you down. But it was just an excuse because I knew I’d be a fool to let this gorgeous uptown girl walk out of my life without at least trying to get to know her first.”

Utter silence met me on the other side of the line. It was so quiet, I could hear a morning news program playing on her end. An uncomfortable flush worked its way up my chest. This is why I didn’t talk too much.

“Parker? You there?”

She made a noise in the back of her throat, as if she were choking. “Yes. Yes. I’m here. Sorry.”

“Well? What do you think? Will that pass muster?”

Silence greeted me again and I swore I heard her mutter “fiddlesticks.” But then she answered crisp as new bed sheets. “Yes. That’s … good. Perfectly adequate.”

Perfectly adequate? Well, hell. I thought I’d done all right. It had been kind of sappy, sure, but I couldn’t see anyone not believing it.

She cleared her throat and charged on. “The party starts at seven thirty. Boston Harbor. We could meet—”

“I do not meet my women for dates. I pick them up. Always.”

“Morgan,” she said with asperity, “I am not your woman.”

She couldn’t see my grin, but it didn’t stop me. “Tinker Bell, I have a contract that says otherwise. Better get used to it. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Sand snakes,” she snarled under her breath.

Whatever that meant.

“Oh, and Tink?”

“What?” Another snarl. Such joy and light from my irate pixie.

“Prepare yourself for some physical contact. Because I touch my woman. Always.”

* * *

“I know what you’re trying to do.”