“Damn, you hit the jackpot too. There’s not a bare nacho in here.” “I scooped up the top,” he says. “What?” “The top of the nacho platter,” he clarifies. “I only took the ones that were loaded with the good stuff.” “You stood there and carefully extracted the only nachos that had adequate toppings? You don’t even like nachos.” “No. But you do.” “Ambrose King, are you flirting with me right now?” I shove another nacho into my mouth because honestly, I don’t know what else to do with my hands. A light chuckle escapes him. “Trust me, Mara. When I flirt with you”—he brushes a crumb from my
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