I run to grab my keys. “I’ll meet you outside! But I get to pick your colors this time.”

She flips her hair. “Pea-green toes can be very elegant, thank you very much.”

As I’m running back through the kitchen after putting on my shoes, Tucker’s there washing his hands in the sink. He shakes his hands out, unable to find a towel. Sunlight cascades down his face, like a damn Instagram thirst trap come to life.

I reach into a drawer and hand him a fresh dish towel, breaking the moment and snapping myself back to reality. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He dries his hands and hangs the towel over the edge of the sink.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “you don’t owe me any kind of explanation about why you were at the drag show last night.”

He smiles, the lines around his eyes wrinkling. “I kept wanting to go up and talk to you.”

“Me?” I ask. “We don’t even know each other. Or even like each other for that matter.”

Tucker shakes his head. “Waylon, I’ve known you my whole life. And I’ve never said I don’t like you.”

“I mean, I guess we know each other in the small-town kind of way. But you haven’t exactly been friendly to me in the past.”

He’s so close. It’s so quiet. Dad is gone. Mom is outside. Clem is at Hannah’s. It’s just me and Tucker, this boy I’ve known for my whole life apparently, but who is still such a mystery to me.

“Oh, and you’ve never been a jerk before?”

I suck in a breath. “That’s not the impression you left me with.”

Tucker bites down on his lip. I think our rib cages might be made of magnets, because no matter how hard I try to pull back and knock some sense into my head, I can’t seem to stop myself from—

“Waylon! These toes are done waiting,” my mother calls from the garage.

I take a step back, gasping. “Be right there!”

Tucker doesn’t seem at all fazed.

“I better go,” I tell him. “You have to go.”

“After you,” he says smoothly.

I snatch the keys off the counter and march outside in my most awful cargo shorts and polo shirt. “Let’s go, Mom.”

“Oh, Tucker,” Mom says. “Thank you so much.”

“Yes, ma’am. Anytime,” he tells her, on his best behavior. “I texted Mr. Brewer the info on what parts we need to order. I’d be happy to install them for you when everything comes in.”

She cups his cheek. “You are such a wonderful help. I insist you join us for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, ma’am, I’ve, uh . . . I can’t this evening, but thank you.”