More Than a Pretty Face: A Sweet Small-Town Romantic Comedy by Remi Carrington

Author:Remi Carrington [Carrington, Remi]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Ivy steps outside, carrying a tray piled with everything needed to make s’mores. Mason is jumping up and down, and Jasmine is chewing her bottom lip. Then she looks over at Daisy, who gives a slight shrug.

While I’m no Sherlock Holmes, even I can see that s’mores are triggering some sort of memory. Is it possible that she remembers the party but doesn’t recognize me? That doesn’t make any sense.

I lean close so my question won’t be overheard. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I love s’mores.” Her gaze is fixed on the package of chocolate bars.

I thread marshmallows onto a roasting stick. “How do you like them? Zero for hand it over without getting it near the fire and five for charcoal tastes pretty good.”

A genuine smile chases away the dark clouds. “Three.”

“I’ll do my best.” I hold the stick over the fire and slip an arm around her waist. “Maybe next Saturday after I work on your garden, you’ll let me take you to dinner.”

If standing here by a fire with marshmallows on a stick doesn’t jog her memory, that memory must not be important, and there’s no reason to let it complicate things. I like this woman. She dominates my thoughts when I’m not with her, and I’m eagerly planning my weekends so that I can spend more time with her.

“I’d like that.” She leans in closer. “And I am okay. Someday I’ll explain. But not tonight.”

“You know where to find me.” If I get my way, she’ll only have to look beside her because that’s becoming my favorite place to be.

When the marshmallows are perfect, I slide one onto a graham cracker, then hold out a piece of chocolate. Jasmine stares at the chocolate in my hand a second, then up at me. Her small laugh relaxes me. “Putting the marshmallow on the chocolate would make mess.” She picks up the chocolate pieces and places them on her s’more. “This looks perfect. Thank you.”

“I aim to please.”

She stacks the other marshmallow onto a graham cracker, then tops it with chocolate before handing it to me. “I’m glad we came.”

“Me too.” I take a bit of the gooey treat.

She inches up to wipe something off the side of my mouth—probably chocolate—and Mason shoots me a thumbs-up from the opposite side of the firepit. His timing is perfect, and inside, I’m laughing because it seems that Jasmine is always cleaning chocolate off me.

I like that kid. But not as much as I like Jasmine. Or as I still sometimes call her in my head, Bottle Caps.

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