“Just a taste.”
He glared. “Why is this important rightnow?”
“Well, we’re already here, aren’t we?”
Why not? She practically had the cookie resting on his lips now, anyway. Besides, arguing with Zoey was an Olympic sport, and he hadn’t adequately trained. He took a reluctant bite, rolled his eyes. “There. Tasted.”
“And?”
“It’s good.”
She pouted, a breeze rustling her bangs. The moon peeked from behind a cloud. “You’re just saying that.”
Crawfish never argued back. Linc sighed. “It’sgood.”
She adjusted the container on her hip. “I need description, Linc. My dessert catering business is on the line, here. Does it melt in your mouth? Does it make you want to order a dozen more? Is it too sweet? Just right?”
Kinda dry, actually. He frowned. “What am I, Goldilocks?”
She frowned back. “Imagine that you are.”
“Then I would turn myself in to the police for breaking and entering.”
“Linc.”
“What? She committed a crime!”
A tree frog croaked, as if Zoey was interrupting its bedtime too. She pursed her lips, waited.
“Fine, it tastes better than porridge.” Maybe. Linc licked his lips. What had she put in there, sawdust? The aftertaste grew worse.
“How am I supposed to believe you like it if you can’t specifywhatyou like?” Her eyes danced. “Okay, that’s it. You have to touch the post.”
She had him, and she knew it. He scowled, following her gaze to the ornate black lamppost stationed outside the gazebo. Its light glowed, soft amber rings reflecting on the worn sidewalk beneath. “That tradition is silly.”
“Some traditions are, but this one works. You can’t lie if you touch the post, and you know it.”
“Just because you declare something doesn’t make it true.” But somehow, it did, and she knew it. He never should have gone along with this ridiculous “pinky promise replacement,” as she’d put it years ago when she’d first dragged him there as a kid.
But he’d come and touched the post that day, just like he’d come tonight. And would do it again.
Because it was really getting hard to tell Zoey no.
Didn’t mean she’d like his answer, though. He closed the distance to the lamp and slapped his palm against the solid black post. “Go ahead.”
Her eager expression glowed under the light. She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders. “Did you like the new recipe?”
“No.”
Her smile fell. “Linc!”
“What? You’re the one making me do this.” He shifted his weight, still touching the post. “Anything else?”
“What didn’t you like?”
“Wasn’t a good cookie.” He shrugged. “Dry. Kinda tasteless—until the sawdust took over.”
She winced. “Sawdust?”
