“So you came here just to see me?”
“Is that a problem?” His eyes are serious now, searching mine.
I shake my head. “No. It’s… nice.” I glance back at the door, lowering my voice. “But you should know the entire town is already talking about us.”
“Let them talk.” He shrugs, and there’s something so liberating about his indifference to gossip.
“Easy for you to say, you can hide in your house, and I’ll be here, at the center of this volcano.”
He steps closer, his hand finding the small of my back. “You want me to leave?”
“No,” I admit. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Roman clears his throat loudly from the grill, reminding us we’re not alone. “These pancakes aren’t going to serve themselves.”
I feel my face heat up. “Sorry, Roman. We were just?—”
“I know what you were ‘just’ doing,” he interrupts,but there’s no heat in his voice. He points his spatula at Jericho. “You staying for breakfast?”
“If you’ve got time—seems like all the tables are taken,” Jericho replies, his eyes not leaving mine.
“There’s always time,” Roman grunts, turning back to the grill. “Nora, get the man some coffee while I whip up my special.”
I lead Jericho back out to the dining area, trying to ignore the blatant stares and whispers that follow us. Cheryl and Grandma are still in the booth, watching with matching expressions of amusement.
“Well?” Cheryl drawls as we approach. “Find what you were looking for?”
“Yep,” Jericho says, sliding into the booth beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. The casual contact sends a thrill through me.
Grandma studies him over the rim of her teacup. “So, Steve?—”
“Jericho,” I correct again automatically.
“—tell us about yourself. What exactly are your intentions with my granddaughter?”
“Grandma!” I hiss, mortified.
Jericho doesn’t flinch. “I intend to make her happy, if she’ll let me.”
The simple declaration hangs in the air between us, and I feel something shift in my chest, a kind of settling.
“Good answer.” Grandma nods approvingly.
Cheryl rolls her eyes. “So you two are actually dating now? Like, officially?”
Jericho looks at me, a question in his eyes. It’s my call, I realize. He’s leaving it up to me to define the label for what we are.
“Yes,” I say firmly, holding his gaze. “We are.”
His expression softens, something like relief flickering across his face before he masks it. He reachesunder the table to squeeze my hand, and the gesture feels more intimate than anything we did last night.
“Well, that’s settled then,” Grandma says, patting Jericho’s arm. “You’ll come to Sunday dinner, of course.”
It’s not a question, and I can see the moment Jericho realizes there’s no declining this invitation. “I’d be honored,” he says, and I can tell he means it.
Karina appears with a fresh pot of coffee and an extra mug for Jericho. “So the whole town’s buzzing about you two,” she announces without preamble, filling his cup. “Mrs. Wilkinson is telling everyone she saw you doing the walk of shame this morning, Nora.”
I groan, sinking lower in my seat. “Can we please talk about literally anything else?”
