“What about”—I glanced around and even though whoever else was supposed to be manning the front desk was nowhere in sight, I lowered my voice—“your aunt and my grandmother?”

A flash of irritation streaked across his dark eyes. “That is none of our business.”

“But they like each other.”

“No one truly upends their life for a holiday romance. That’s only in the movies.” Then he nodded to the larger case that was still by the front desk. “I’ll be back for that.”

I didn’t give two shits about his suitcase.

“Good-bye, Finley.”

With that he walked out the back of the inn.

I stood there for several moments, uncertain what was happening, what had happened. My mind raced trying to put together any bits or pieces, but came up lacking. Then I remembered the gable box of Jammie Dodgers in my hands.

His Christmas present. Purchased less than a half hour ago, but already pointless.

I looked to the suitcase he was planning to come back for and, without giving it a thought, unzipped the front pocket, pushed the Gingerbread Café box inside, and zipped it back. What the hell else was I going to do with it?

In a daze and on automatic pilot, I grabbed the two plastic bags and went into the kitchen, where all three cooks zipped about in three different directions.

Grandma Jo was nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until I’d handed over the bags to Mrs. Buzzard—who did not say thank you—that something in what Arthur had said struck me.

My heart started to beat madly.

I ran out the back of the inn through the courtyard and headed for the parking area, where I found Arthur, having already retrieved the final suitcase, on his way to the Hummer. Where Esha sat in the passenger’s seat, her expression inscrutable, even for her, as she stared out the side window.

“Arthur!”

He stopped and turned to me.

I caught up, slightly out of breath from my dash. “Good-bye?” He tipped his head to one side, perplexed. “You said . . .” Deep breaths, calm down. “You said, ‘good-bye.’ ”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s what one says? Or are there different parting phrases here in Oklahoma?”

“Don’t you mean, ‘see you back at school’?”

Recognition dawned then. His back slowly stiffened and it was then he reminded me of the Arthur I knew from the beginning. The Queen’s Guard posture.

“I think we both know that’s not happening,” he said coolly, walls up, moat dug, alligators and dragons installed.

Which meant he knew.

Somehow.

“Did Ayisha say something?” It was the only explanation I had.

To my surprise, he seemed almost embarrassed. “No. I . . .” He actually blushed. “. . . overheard you last night, when you were having a chat with your mother.”

Oh. I briefly closed my eyes and curled my lips inward. Biting down hard. Crap.