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"I still don't get why you insist on buying lobster rolls every time you park at Marty's."

"Because I'm taking up prime parking whenever I come over. I'm costing the man business. It's the least thing I can do," I say, eyeing August as we turn down the side street toward his house.

He walks beside me, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his oatmeal-colored slacks, looking a little more grumblier than usual. Ever since we left his office, grabbed coffee, and got into my car, his mood's been steadily souring. The closer we got to Green Harbour, the more grumpier he seemed—rubbing at that little crease between his brows, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt like they were suffocating him, gripping the steering wheel just a little too tight.

I thought maybe it had something to do with Gwen's sister, but I don't know, I didn't want to ask. He had asked me to trust him, so I am. I spent the entire thirty minutes in the car, fidgeting with the radio, pretending like his silence wasn't making me antsy.

"Why not just pay him for the parking spot?" August asks, kicking a rock along the sidewalk. "Lease it from him?"

"Because then he'll think I don't like his lobster rolls."

"But you don't like his lobster rolls."

"That's not true."

"Maisie, you've never even tried them. You have a shellfish allergy."

"Which is exactly why you should be the one carrying the box," I retort, shoving it against his chest. He laughs under his breath, shaking his head, and tugs a hand from his pocket to take the box, tucking it under his arm.

I glance over at him again, poking his side with a finger. "You're grumpy today."

He winces and brushes my hand away. "I'm not grumpy."

"Yes, you are," I insist. "You've barely said a word since the coffee shop."

His jaw had been clenched so tight, you'd think the barista personally offended him by getting our order right.

I mean, I guess I was a little disappointed too. We walked into an empty coffee shop, the barista barely glancing up as she handed over our drinks and then disappeared into the back, completely oblivious to the fact that I was Maisie Rhodes. Which, okay, normally, I'd be thrilled by the anonymity, but today, that was not what I was going for.

In fact, after we left his office, it was as if the entire city of Boston had disappeared, paparazzi included. The whole reason I came to see him today was to find an excuse to kiss him—an excuse to give this thing between us a trial run, like Andrea suggested. I even cut rehearsals short after missing my mark on my routine one too many times, my mind stuck on how August kissed me four days ago in New York—how he tasted like the finest maple syrup from Vermont.

My plan was flawless, until I realized there was no one around for me to be able to kiss him.

Everywhere I go these days, there always seems to be someone stopping me to say hi or asking for a picture. And for once in my life, I'm annoyed that no one's around. Even as we turn onto August's street, it feels like a ghost town—not even Mrs. Harris is outside, and she's always outside.