“And New York is okay with you being here?” “My work is fine with it.” He closes the space between us again, and I shuffle backward until a pine tree branch pokes at the space between my shoulder blades. “I’m more interested in what you have to say about it.” “I’m fine with it.” I clutch my cupcake to my chest. “Why wouldn’t I be fine with it?” “Because,” he says, his hand reaching so he can toy with the zipper of my jacket. He tugs it up and then down. Up again. “Now you can’t avoid me like you were planning to.” “I wasn’t planning on avoiding you.” I lie through my teeth. “Mm-hmm. That’s why
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