“Wait. Scarlett, darling…are you jealous?” “You wish.” I’d been half joking, but her answer came too quickly, too aggressively to ring true. My smile vanished beneath an unsteady thump of my heart. “Maybe I do.” The confession drifted between us like confetti in the wind, blowing this way and that, uncertain of where to land. It was the closest either of us had come to acknowledging our attraction—and there was attraction. A quiet, smoldering, mutual one. Of that, I was sure. If she’d stayed in the kitchen a minute longer the other night, I would’ve kissed her, and she would’ve let me.
