“Well-meaning older sisters,” she corrects, dodging my next slap and stealing a cookie. “Sisters who see your chemistry with someone even when you’re too stubborn to acknowledge it and give you the nudge you need.”

“Nudge? That’s what we’re calling it?”

“I’m sorry—” She pops the cookie in her mouth and dusts off her hands. “Are you or are you not going on a date with the guy I nudged you toward?”

My scowl deepens.

“What are your plans?” she asks. “Going somewhere fancy? You’re dressed up.”

“No, I’m not.” Am I?

I peer down at my jade-green pleated skirt with its wide stretchy waistband, and my favorite cobalt-blue sweater featuring a knit bow at the shoulder. Maybe I took a smidge more care with my appearance when I got ready for work, knowing I’d head straight to dinner with Jamie afterward. But as always, I dressed based on the fabrics and seams that felt comfy when I woke up this morning.

“I’m having dinner with Jamie. Nothing fancy.”

“That’s it?” She narrows her eyes. “I don’t like this new private side of you.”

“You made the monster, Frankenstein. Don’t blame me.”

The overhead bell sounds again, and the doorway is filled with six foot many inches of Jamie Westenberg, who, despite nearly always wearing dress slacks and a button-up, somehow looks even more put together tonight. His shirt is crisp canvas white, undone an extra button, which reveals the hollow of his throat. His chinos are casual, a complex deep olive that reminds me of oil paints and long, dreamy hours in my studio. He holds a heather-gray sweater in the crook of his arm, and a sleek metallic watch winks from his wrist, reminding me how despicably hot his forearms are.

A wolf whistle breaks the silence.

I give my sister a look. “Back off.”

She shrugs. “Jean-Claude’s got my heart, but come on. You look great, West!”

Besides a splash of pink on his cheeks—I’m hooked on how easily Jamie blushes—and a hearty throat clear, no one would know how much it knocks Jamie on his heels to be appreciated. I’ve only just realized he’s self-conscious, after I let it slip the other day that his face is gorgeous, and he looked at me like I’d told him the moon’s purple.

“Ah.” He clears his throat again. “Well, thank you.”

Throwing my bag on my shoulder, I call toward the back, “I’m heading out now, Ton!”

“Fuck you very much!” Toni yells. “How am I supposed to haul the delivery and man the storefront?”

“Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

“And I didn’t even get the juicy deets about Sexy Westy!”

Jamie turns pink.

Jules snorts. “I’ll go help him. Get out of here, you two. No, wait.” She stops me, fussing with my blouse beneath my sweater.