Because I remember the way she looked at me. That pause. That tension. The almost kiss that sat between us like a lit fuse.
And now we’re both pretending it’s business as usual. Like my dog didn’t tackle her into my arms. Like I haven’t been thinking about her laugh ever since I laid eyes on her.
I don’t do messy. I don’t do personal.
But somehow, every time she’s near me, I forget that.
Opening night at The Marrow is a calculated storm.
Chaos. But in the best possible way.
The kitchen is humming, line cooks focused, plates flying out with precision. The smell of roasted garlic, thyme, and fresh sourdough is in the air. Every table is full, the bar’s packed, and for a minute, just one small minute, I’m almost at peace.
Then ‘Queen Bea’ Jensen from The Pine Nest Bakery waltzes in wearing a “Bake It 'Til You Make It” apron and wielding a tray of bright yellow lemon bars like she’s officiating a wedding.
“For the happy couple!” she declares, setting the tray directly on the pass with a wink that could break the sound barrier.
I blink at the powdered sugar dust bomb now threatening my entire mise en place. “What?”
Josie, who’s plating a trout dish with way too much finesse for someone pretending not to notice the chaos, barely glances up. “Just go with it.”
“They’re ‘Lovebird Lemon Bars,’” Bea explains with far too much satisfaction. “On the house. Andin honorof the cutest gossip Silver Peak’s had since Reverend Harold accidentally livestreamed his colonoscopy instead of his sermon.”
Josie snorts. I nearly choke.
“Also,” Bea adds, leaning in conspiratorially, “Knox, darling. I saw that video. And listen, if youaren’tin love with her, you might want to start, because the chemistry? Whew. Even my sourdough starter blushed.”
She pats my cheek with powdered sugar fingers. Then she sashays off like she didn’t just emotionally bulldoze me in front of the entire kitchen.
Josie, still calm as ever, raises an eyebrow. “You okay over there?”
“I’ve been through two-a-days in a hundred-and-four-degree heat, and I wasn’t this rattled.”
She grins, damn her. “You’ll survive. Silver Peak’s just a little enthusiastic.”
“Alittle.”
Sure.
Enthusiastic is one word. Unhinged is another.
Maybe this wasn’t the right place for me after all.
But I don’t move right away.
Instead, I stare at the tray of lemon bars like they might detonate, my brain still glitching from Queen Bea’s sugar-dusted prophecy. Josie doesn’t say anything, she keeps her head down, lips twitching like she’s trying very hard not to laugh.
For a second, just a second, I think I catch something else on her face. A flicker. A crack in the easy smile. Like maybe the spotlight’s hitting a little too hard. Like maybe this whole circus act of attention isn’t sitting quite as lightly as she pretends.
But then she shakes her head, hair bouncing, and tosses a garnish on the trout like she hasn’t missed a beat. Whatever I thought I saw, it’s gone.
I must’ve imagined it.
I clear my throat. “She does this kind of thing often?”
“Only on days ending in Y,” Josie says, carefully placing a sprig of chervil on the trout like this isn’t the most surreal moment of my professional life.
“She thinks we’re a couple.”
