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“It’s called a Bitty Being, and if you don’t mind, I’ll take it back, please.”

Still squatting, she reaches for it.

“You’re pretty talented.”

“Thank God there’s one thing I excel at.”

I drag my gaze from the Bitty Being to her. Cristina’s looking at me like I’m enemy number one. Hell, I might as well be, after last night.

“Let me get the other one,” I say, reaching for what I assume must be the figurine’s body.

“No, I’ve got it.”

I bend as she reaches for it. She jerks upright and her head cracks into my jaw. My teeth clamp shut, and a shock wave of pain hits me as I’m tossed up and back from the force of our collision.

My tailbone slams into the floor, and pain explodes up my spine. The air whooshes out of me, my vision swimming—just long enough for a ring of tiny unicorn-horned bunnies to start tap dancing across the ceiling.

Bunnicorns.

Great. Now I’m seeing things I was joking about.

Cristina’s face appears above me. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I groan. “I’m not okay. Is this my punishment for last night?”

“It was an accident.”

My head throbs. So does my tailbone. “I’m beginning to think you should come with a warning label.”

She scoffs. “That’s not very nice.”

“It’s a joke. You don’t need a label, but I figured we were even last night when you champagned me.”

“Champagne isn’t a verb.”

“It is now.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Slowly, I push myself up to a sitting position, groaning as I go. Damn, but I’m going to be bruised. A massage might help with the pain.

I give her the beheaded sculpture. “For you, my lady.”

Her shoulders sag as she takes it. “Great.”

“Sorry your sculpture broke. But please, for the love of God, don’t come anywhere near me if you’ve got a knife.”

She looks so mortified that I’m about to tell her again it’s a joke, but she interrupts. “I’m perfectly capable with knives—and you might not believe this, but I usually don’t throw champagne at people and headbutt them.”

I rub my jaw. Ouch. “Then I must be special.”

She turns away and gently places the beheaded figurine back in the box. When she does, I get a whiff of her scent. It’s honeysuckles again, bringing back warm summer nights and the taste of sweet nectar.

I close my eyes and inhale.

“What are you doing?” she snaps.