It was official. I’d never been quite so embarrassed. Why I felt like further explanation was going to help my cause, I had no idea. “It was just this cheesy boy band I liked growing up. They had this dance that went along with one of their songs, and April didn’t believe I knew the entire thing, and then she started playing it, and I . . . I am so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be,” Simon said. “If it makes you feel better, I went through this phase in high school where all I listened to was Francesca Maren. I haven’t heard any of her songs in years, but if one came on the radio right now, I’d probably have a hard time not singing along.”

My jaw dropped. “For real?” Admitting to a Francesca obsession for anyone other than sixty-year-old French chefs was brave.

Simon held up his finger. “Don’t mock. You have no room to talk.”

“Oh, whatever. I’m like you. I haven’t listened to BOYBAND 2.0 in years.”

“Years, huh? So if I were to steal your keys and go out to your car, I wouldn’t find a single 2.0 CD?”

I shifted in my seat and reached for the sheet of paper on the coffee table. “Tell me why you’re here again?”

“Oh, no.” He pulled the paper out of my grasp. “I’m not letting you off that easy.”

I crossed my arms. “Fine. Yes. But only their greatest hits. And I don’t listen to it all that often, and why am I telling you any of this?”

“I have no idea, but I’m so glad you did.” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, the light catching the blue of his eyes. They were so different from Jamie’s dark brown—almost a translucent blue with a little rim of yellow-gold right around the edges. We were two beats past awkward when I realized I was staring. I leaned back, giving my head a little shake. “You, uh . . . were saying . . . about the inn.”

“I wasn’t saying. Not yet. But I guess I should.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got another appointment in half an hour, but there’re a few things I need from you. Since I live so close, I thought it would be easier to bring over the list in person.”

“That’s right. I forgot you live close.”

“I could walk if I wanted,” Simon said. “There’s a gate at the end of my property that cuts through to the gardens.”

“I could walk too,” I said. “I keep telling myself I will once the weather cools down.”

“If the weather ever cools down,” he added. “I hate September because it feels like it should be fall already, but it never really is. It’s still hot.”