Damn him! Why does he have to look so smug? So damn hot? Why can’t I just forget about that night with him and move on with my life as if nothing happened?

“It’s a little chilly out here,” he says and looks up at the darkening sky. “Might rain.”

“You can go back inside. Won’t hurt my feelings.” And then I can have my existential crisis by myself.

“I’ll wait.”

I sigh and realize that my fingers and nose are cold.

There’s no harm in going inside to warm up.

“Fine. I’ll come in.”

I climb the stairs, and a slow smile spreads over Cameron’s lips as I get closer to him. He gestures for me to go inside ahead of him.

“If you have company, I can leave.”

“No one’s here but you and me.” His voice is calm. Mild. Friendly.

And, damn it, he looks amazing in that tight T-shirt and jeans that hug his hips in just the right way. I know what’s under those clothes and how he feels. How he smells.

This was a huge mistake.

“So, did you have a nice date?” I blurt out. I can’t even turn and look at him, so I walk to the window and stare outside. I have all these emotions swirling inside, and I don’t know what to do with them.

“Maggie.”

“Did you do it on purpose?” I turn and stare at him, propping my hands on my hips. “You overheard me telling Maeve last night that I’d be at the diner, so you paraded some tramp in there to make me jealous, right?”

“Actually, no.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’d already made the date—with a client—a few weeks ago.”

“So, you’re dating, then.”

He narrows his eyes. “I just said she’s a client. But let’s set that aside for a second. You’re dating, too.”

Damn it, Mary Margaret, stop this! You sound like a fool.

He looks frustrated. Cam’s always calm and collected, so I’ve clearly gotten him worked up. His voice is firm but quiet as he asks, “How did it go with your date?”

“Oh, he’s a moron.” I wave that off and pace back to the window, feeling completely mortified. “He’s a misogynistic, basic asshole.”

“So, you didn’t like him then?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “No. I didn’t like him.”

“Why are you here, Maggie?”

I don’t turn around. I don’t want him to see the hurt on my face. Damn it, why does this whole thing hurt my feelings? He just said the bimbo at the diner was a client.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

I feel him walk up behind me and rest his hands on my shoulders. “Mary Margaret.”