Page 56 of I Think He Knows

“I’m taking my new family-man roleveryseriously,” Carter continues. “And that means that my mission for the week—aside from taking you, my beautiful fake bride-to-be, to our official engagement party on Saturday night, of course—is to find a certain little girl a sparkly unicorn tent.”

A blush crawls over my body at this endearment, and my mind flashes back to the way he touched me in the kitchen the other night. I catch myself thinking about this way too much, to the point where I’m actually looking forward to the engagement party. Even the thought of him touching me like that again is enough to make me giddy with anticipation.

But I force my mind away from Carter’s sexiness, and back to my daughter’s upcoming campout.

“Didn’t she want a unicorn sleeping bag?”

“Yes. That too.” He cuts himself a piece of pancake and fixes those vivid blue eyes on me. “All the unicorn camping stuff we can find. Don’t tell her though, k? I want it to be a surprise.”

Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly fall for him more.

19

CARTER

I’ve never understood the appeal of Target to the majority of the female population.

But as Lana Mae and I walk the aisles, pushing a huge red cart and sipping coffees, Target (which, up until five minutes ago, was just another generic big box store I rarely frequented) becomes my new happy place.

Because it’s just Lana and me. No crammed, scheduled visit. Just time to relax and enjoy ourselves and each other. She’s bouncing along next to me, chatting my ear off as we chuck a wild assortment of items into our cart. Most of which are not even camping-related.

After that moment between us in her kitchen the other night, I wasn’t sure what to think. Something wasdefinitelythere, in her eyes, almost daring me to lean in…

And then, just as quickly, the moment was over. Evaporated like smoke. And I’m still not sure what to make of it.

“This is so much better than dress shopping,” I tell her as I add a case of Olipop to the cart, then point us in the direction of the snacks.

“I don’t think we’ve ever been grocery shopping together. I thought you were going to be one of those Erewhon snobs.”

I laugh. “I’ve never even set foot in an Erewhon. Anthony arranges it so that all my stuff gets delivered to my apartment when I’m in LA.”

“So spoiled.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know,” I reply seriously. It’s always bugged me that, since I came into money, Lana has refused to take a penny from me. I know she’s stubborn and proud and determined to do things herself (which I admire), but I still wish she’d let me help. It’s not personal, though—her brothers have a super successful tech company, and the most she’ll let them pay for is Allegra’s dance classes.

When I found this out, I also found my loophole: Lana Mae may not want my help, but she’d never deny her daughter anything.

So I’ve been doing what I can inthatway. Mostly unbeknownst to my best friend.

Lana takes a sip of her Starbucks cinnamon dolce latte. “I always imagined that your LA apartment has a really fancy coffee machine that you learned how to use for the sole purpose of impressing all your guests.”

“Well, you do know how much I love to impress guests. The King of England was positively blown away by my coffee game when he swung by for a latte and a chat,” I reply flippantly, and when she rolls her eyes and whacks my arm, I add, “But you’re half right. Idohave a really nice coffee machine that I don’t know how to use. Anthony does, though.”

“What, you don’t offer all your lady friends coffee in the morning? Or is it part of Anthony’s job to come round and barista for them?”

There’s a little flash of something in my stomach at her question. Like I said, we don’t usually talk about my dating life, but here she is, suddenly asking questions.

I reach over and tug gently on her hair. “What’re you talking about, lady friends? I’m engaged to be married, you know.”

She looks at me with a silly smile. “I did know that, actually. Think I saw a story about it onE!”

“You should meet her, she’s incredible,” I say with a matching silly smile.

Lan looks down at her feet bashfully as I toss some honey roasted cashews and Milano cookies on top of our haul. I realize with a start that I’ve barely given a second’s thought to the shirtless scene inIf Only. All that stuff is starting to pale and fade around the woman upon whose couch I’ve been camping out.

“She’s also going to be late for work if we don’t find this tent soon,” she jokes lightly.

“Okay, okay.”