“I told Vickie to have the book club lay off sending you on dates. But maybe you are ready to meet someone?” For some reason, that idea weighed on her.

Mike frowned. “You told the book club biddies to stop setting me up? Why?”

“Did I overstep?” She’d thought she was doing him a favor, but maybe not.

“As if you ever could. It just surprised me. I thought you liked hearing about all the disaster dates.”

She tightened the last screw and flipped the vacuum cleaner upright.

“I do.”

As long as they’re disasters. She froze. What a weird thing to think.

“And what about you?” he asked. “Any disaster dates coming up for you? Another go-round with Nate Benson?”

“Do you really want to taunt your hormonal friend with the memory of that handsy asshole?” She started to laugh. “And he was so bad at it that I almost felt sorry for the guy. I mean, groping is one thing, but he didn’t even know where to grope. I know my boobs are small, but they’re right there. They’re not invisible!”

“Definitely not invisible.” Mike’s gaze stayed on her chest a fraction longer than absolutely necessary.

Huh. That’s weird.

“How much wine have we had tonight?” She held up the bottle with an awkward laugh.

Mike ran his fingers through his hair in that way he did when he was agitated. “I didn’t think any topic was off the table for us, but your boobs seem to be...” He closed his eyes, his cheeks going ruddy.

“Off the table? Yes, they are. Literally and figuratively.”

It was a joke, but it fell flat. She kept trying to lighten the moment, but she was making it worse instead. She had no idea how to salvage it.

After a long silence, Mike finally gave a harsh laugh. “Jesus, Zoey. I don’t know what happened just now, but...”

“I do. I’m supposed to be your pal. One of the boys. But I’m guessing you don’t sit around and talk to the guys about periods or the size of your...” She was not making this any better. “...of your...um...parts.”

Mike grew suddenly serious, walking around the workbench to where she stood. His eyes were dark and surprisingly solemn.

“You’re not one of the boys. And you’re far more than a pal, Zoey. I don’t talk to the guys about most of the things you and I talk about—the silly stuff or the serious stuff. I never want that to change.”