She purses her lips and raises a brow. “It was an accidental nip graze.”

“Oh yeah, okay, sure.” I wink at her and set the menu down. “Accidental. Got you. Just like it was an accident that your tongue got lost in my mouth.”

“Why are you so difficult?”

I wince. “Coming on too strong?”

She holds up her fingers, then brings her index finger and thumb together. “Just a little.”

“Fair enough. Maybe we should start over, switch gears.” I clear my throat. “Hey, you.” I give her a slow once-over. “You look so goddamn beautiful.”

She looks down and smiles. “You know, people have told me I’m beautiful before: Declan and Cohen are constantly telling me; past boyfriends have thrown out the compliment as well.” She looks up at me through her lashes. “But you’re the first person who actually makes me feel like what you’re saying is true. And I’m not fishing for compliments—just trying to tell you that I believe what you’re saying, and that’s new.”

“If we’re being honest—” I push my silverware to the side, needing something to play with—“I wasn’t really in the market to meet someone, but there’s something about your personality, the way you didn’t hesitate to help me, that hit me hard, made me crush on you. Big time. I mean, I thought you were beautiful the first time we met, but your general disdain threw me off.”

“And the barking.”

I laugh. “The barking for sure was different.”

“It was new for me too.”

“Yeah? Would have guessed you’d been doing that for years now, with the kind of volume you got on some of those woofs.”

She fluffs her hair. “Why, thank you. I might have practiced in the mirror a few times before I came to set. I never like to go into anything unprepared.”

“So the barking was just for me?” She nods. I clutch my chest. “I’m honored.”

Fay stops at our table and pulls a pen from behind her ear. “Do I even need to write it down?” She waves the pen between us. “Two patty melts, one Sprite, one Coke. Crispy fries.”

“Uh, yeah,” Luna and I say in unison.

Fay sighs. “I should have hooked you two up months ago.” She takes off toward the kitchen.

Fay might be a little rough around the edges, but no diner is complete without a curmudgeon of an employee—Fay fits the bill and gives the diner plenty of character.

“Patty melt, huh?” I ask, leaning back in the booth. “She’s right. She should have hooked us up months ago.”

“You think you would have asked me out?”

“Easily.”

“Even in my hungover state, wearing pajama pants, my breath reeking of last night’s booze?”

I chuckle. “The booze breath might have deterred me for a second, but the minute I looked into your eyes, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Such a charmer,” she deadpans as Fay drops off our drinks without a word and leaves.

We both take a sip, leaving the straws to the side. “So,” I ask as we set our drinks back down, “when did you know you wanted to make things for a living?”

“High school.”

“Really?” I say, surprised. “I thought you were going to say something like when you were four years old.”

“When I was in grade school, I wanted to be a veterinarian. I would play vet with my stuffed animals—line them up for the day and see them one at a time, fixing all their ailments. Our family dog, Ralph—he was a yellow Lab—would sit by my side and act as my nurse.”

“Shit, that’s adorable. I can picture it.”

“My mom has so many pictures of me tending to my stuffed animals, but then . . . Ralph got sick.”

“Oh hell.” I scratch the side of my jaw. “I don’t foresee this going well.”

“It didn’t.” She sighs. “I tried everything I could to make him better, but no amount of kisses could have scared the cancer away. A few months later we had to put him down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I was devastated, to say the least. I couldn’t fix him, and that really upset me. After Ralph passed, I stopped playing veterinarian. It wasn’t the same without him by my side, and that’s when I really started to get into watercolors. I would spend hours painting portraits of Ralph.”

“Christ, Luna, you’re hurting my heart over here.” I wish this table wasn’t between us, or there was enough room for me to slip into her side of the booth and hold her. “How many portraits did you end up with?”

“Thirty. Big and small. I hung them up all over the house, but mostly in my room. ‘An Ode to Ralph’ is what I called my first showing.”

“Showing?” My brow furrows.

“Yup. I made some signage and flyers, handed them out, cleaned the house, made some lemonade and almond drop cookies, and invited people in for a viewing party. Sold one piece of art that day, to a lady down the street. It was an abstract piece of Ralph, but she said it touched her soul.”

“And you didn’t know then?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I knew there was something inside me that liked being praised for the work I did. I dabbled in a lot of crafts after that. Mom and Dad didn’t care how much money they spent at different craft stores—they were just happy I was busy and not getting into trouble.”

“You have good parents,” I say, wondering how it would feel to have parents that involved in my life.

“They kept me busy, all right, and when I hit high school, my mom found a flyer at the local deli for a craft fair. I’d made so many things at that point that she thought I should try selling them. Maybe make some of the money back we spent on crafts.”

“Makes sense. How did you do?”

“Well, my setup was awful. I have a picture of it back at my parents’ house. It was in a small indoor gym a town over from ours. I was so proud, but there was no rhyme or reason to it. Nothing was priced. I really was just so excited to be there.”

“I bet you did awesome, though, right?”

She leans forward on the table. “It was a slow day. I mean . . . slow. People would walk by, say how cute my stuff was, but they never actually bought anything. Until this one lady came by. Mrs. Rose Waters.”

“Rose Waters?”

She chuckles. “Yup. Her daughter just had a baby, and she was looking for a homemade gift. I had an afghan made out of rainbow yarn. It was originally supposed to be for Cohen, but boy did I get the dimensions wrong. The yarn caught Mrs. Waters’s eyes, though, and she said something that vibrant and beautifully made could only bring joy to someone, so she bought it. I asked for fifteen dollars, but she gave me fifty and told me not to undersell myself.” Luna smiles. “A few months later, I got an email from her—she took one of my business cards that I wrote on—and she sent me a picture of her new granddaughter wrapped in the blanket. It meant so much to me, seeing how something I made could have an impact on another person’s life. And that’s when I knew.”

“You were meant to create.”

“Exactly. And my parents were really supportive. They took me all around the Northeast so I could sell at different craft fairs. But . . .” She smiles and takes a sip of her drink. “When my senior year rolled around and they asked what I planned on doing for college, they were definitely surprised.”

“They weren’t on board with crafting for a living?”

She shakes her head. “Not even a little. Mind you, they’re pretty easygoing—they’re world travelers now that their children are grown. They’ll just make it back from Australia in time for the wedding. But they were not happy about me not going to college.”

“I don’t think most parents are happy about that kind of decision. My parents would never have let it happen, even though neither of them was involved enough in my life to have any say.”

Luna gives me a soft smile. “Given the lack of involvement, I’d say you turned out pretty great.”

Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I think it’s the first time I’ve actually blushed in front of a girl. I’m not a blusher. Never have been. I’m the guy who dishes out the compliments, who makes girls blush. But as my face heats up, I realize I truly do care what Luna thinks about me.

I clear my throat. “So what happened? Did you compromise?”

She shakes her head. “No. I stuck to my guns and told them going to college would be a waste of their money and my time. I knew what I wanted to do.”

“Bold.”

“Tell me about it. I can remember the exact conversation. It was during a family meeting.”

“You had family meetings?”

“Oh yeah.” She chuckles softly. “We’re one of those families where the parents declare a family meeting and all members are required to attend, no matter what—and you could tell immediately from the tone of voice what kind of meeting you were going into—good or bad. This was a bad one.” She leans forward and presses her hand on mine. “They had a PowerPoint presentation, which meant business.”