“I’ll talk to him.”

She laughs. “By the looks of how he kissed you, talking won’t do any good.”

My cheeks heat at the unabashed comment. “I don’t even know what to say about that.”

“Say it was good. Say it was amazing. It’s okay to admit it.”

I laugh, surprised how easily she can put me at ease. “I’m fine writing kisses like that but experiencing them . . .”

“Doesn’t happen very often.”

“Never.” I give a small shake of my head. “He claimed to be showing me how a kiss in a romance novel should be done.”

“Girl, I don’t care what he claimed so long as it looked like that.”

I shove my laptop in my bag, wanting to ask her if Saint kissing unsuspected and stranded tourists is part of his MO, but stop myself short. I’ll be here for one night. Not even a full twelve hours. Who cares what Saint does or doesn’t do. All I know is something sparked my creativity tonight, and if it was the kiss—or even the presence of Saint—then this town isn’t all that bad.

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” I ask.

“Ask me the question you keep thinking but are too polite to voice.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Fine.” She picks up my empty wine glasses. “I’ll answer it then. No. Saint doesn’t just blatantly kiss random women who stop by for the night.”

“Oh.” My mouth shocks into an “O”. “That’s not what I—”

“Yes, it was. And the next question is yes, he genuinely is this nice of a guy—all the time. But kissing random strangers isn’t really his thing, so I—uh . . . think he has a thing for you. Lucky girl.” She picks up the tip I just set down for her. “Thank you. That was unnecessary.” She takes a step back. “You have a good night and drive safely to wherever you’re going tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” I watch her walk away and wonder if everyone in this idyllic town is this kind or if I finally got a little lucky, and things might turn a corner for me.

With my belongings in my hands, I struggle between the want to sneak out the door undetected and the need to stand at the edge of the bar and thank Saint for the food and drinks, and silently thank him for the kiss.

I tell myself to keep walking.

I urge myself to enjoy the moment we had—the playful impulsiveness of it—and head to my room for the night so I can get a good night’s sleep before leaving first thing in the morning.

But my feet stop.

Of course, they do.

And right when they do, I look up to find Saint standing there. “You turning in?”