The heat of my stalkerish ways begins to catch up with me. Do I confess how or do I just surprise her in the morning? There’s just something about her that makes telling the truth easier. “Guess it just wasn’t our time, but you know what’s even more mind-blowing?”

“What?” she asks with anticipation filling her eyes. “We actually have a class together.”

“We do?”

Taking my glass, I pull it across the wooden table. “First class. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

Disappointment wedges into the greens of her eyes, darkening them just enough to wish I hadn’t said anything. I prefer the happiness found in the brighter version.

Row 14.

Seat 20.

I keep that to myself and instead offer her an out. “I sit in the back, and you sit closer to the front.”

The dim restaurant has only flickering candles on the tables and soft lighting above our heads. When she smiles, her beauty can’t be hidden in the shadows or by low lighting. “So you were stalking me?” She’s clever, entrapping me from our earlier conversation when I denied everything.

“If you want to get into the weeds, I noticed you versus the alternative.”

A rosy color fills her cheeks, and although she’s usually been bold in our interactions and quick with comebacks, she seems to be without any for the time being. But there’s no fear or concern written on her face either. She takes a sip of water and then rests forward again, keeping our conversation quieter between us. “I—”

“Here you go.” The server sets down the plates in front of each of us. Lark’s eyes are on him but move to the food, completely stolen from me. Resentment fills me but dissipates just as quickly, knowing I’ll have her full attention again in a minute.

As soon as he’s gone, she picks up her knife and fork. Her lips twist to the side as if she’s fighting a smile, but she says, “I have a secret I’ve been keeping from you, Harbor.”

I hate secrets. Secrets cause more problems than they solve. Like now. A thousand possibilities cross my mind of what she might tell me, but I land on only one, hoping I’m right. Did she notice me like I did her? Please say yes. “Tell me.”

She looks around, and then a devious smile crosses her lips. “I had dinner two hours ago.”

Fucking hell, she’s cute. I pretend to take this matter very seriously, though. “You misled me, Ms. Summerlin.”

Already spinning pasta around her fork, her shoulders pop up and down twice. “My apologies, Mr. Westcott, but how could I say no to this?” She takes a bite, her eyes practically rolling back in her head as she moans in ecstasy.

Fuck. I shift in a poor attempt to create more room in my pants. “You couldn’t.”

She chews, and then when she’s ready for another bite, replies, “Exactly. I couldn’t.”

I cut through my lasagna as if I don’t have an erection hiding under the table. Before I take a bite, I ask, “And why exactly couldn’t you say no?”