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I glanced down at Mikayla, who was shooting her daggers.

I couldn’t help myself, I chuckled out of sheer amusement at the situation. “You're jealous.”

Her head snapped toward me. “What?” she asked. “What’s so funny?”

“You,” I responded.

“Me?” Her eyes widened.

I nodded. “You're jealous.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

“Your eye was twitching.”

“I had something in it.”

“Was it homicidal rage?”

She stared at me. I stared back. Then she turned on her heel and walked away. Carrying a giant purple octopus and a stuffed penguin. I watched her go.

And laughed again. I couldn’t help it. I was delighted.

I caught up with her near the railing overlooking the water.

She stood with her arms folded, the stuffed animals wedged between her and the wooden rail.

I stopped beside her. “Hey.”

She didn't look at me. “Hey.”

I leaned against the railing. For a minute, neither of us spoke. Then I said, “For the record, I wasn't trying to make you jealous.”

She turned toward me. “I'm not jealous.”

“Right.”

“I'm not,” she maintained.

“Okay.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You're enjoying this.”

“A little.”

She let out an exasperated breath.

I smiled. Then let it fade. “I dated those women years ago. I have no interest in them.”

Her shoulders straightened. “I didn't ask.”

“I know.” I looked out over the ocean. “Just wanted you to know.”

She was quiet. Then, softly, “You’ve definitely been a busy boy.”

I chuckled. “Small town.”

“Right.” She nodded.