“Where did she say she parked?” Kel surveyed the parking lot as if he could will Rosemary’s Mercedes to step out of the pack. If cars had hearts, it would have worked.
“She said it was next to a purple van on this side of Macy’s.”
He looked at me. “A purple van?”
I shrugged. “It works for her.”
“Bel—”
“Why do you call me that?” I looked down the row of cars instead of at him.
“Because Stan doesn’t suit you and Isabel seems too formal—after last night.”
Color burned into my cheeks. “Nothing happened last night.” That was my story, and I was sticking to it.
He chuckled, and I had to look. The wind had whipped his hair into sexy disarray and put a glow on his face—just in case he wasn’t potent enough to make a girl want to sing, “Baby, I’m yours.”
“Not enough happened last night,” he
