“Oh, hello, you two. What a darling couple you are,” she gushes, bringing her mittened hands in front of her.
“I couldn’t agree more. I can’t believe this stunning woman even lets me within ten feet of her,” he says confidently, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me closer.
“Oh, stop, a fine looking man like you?” The old woman waves a hand at him and laughs. “Where are you two off to?”
“I was just walking Noelle here home after work for the day,” Nick continues to speak for the both of us.
Ms. Joy’s face falls and becomes confused. “Walking her home? Aren’t you two living together?” she asks, looking directly at me.
“Oh, uhh,” I stammer, trying to come up with a convincing lie.
“Of course we are,” Nick boasts. “When I said home I meant my place on the Wyte’s farm. I’m renting a cabin from them while I look for something more permanent.”
I stare up at him in pure disbelief at his ability to lie so readily. He looks down at me and smiles wider.
“Come on, honey. It’s time to get you home after a long day at Holly House. We’ll see you later, Ms. Joy.”
“Alright, you two, stay warm!” she calls out as we walk away.
Nick throws her a wave over his shoulder and begins marching us in the direction of his cabin.
“Nick, I don’t want to come over, I want to go home,” I protest, trying to pull away from him.
“Well we have to make the town believe we’re reallymarried and that means living together. You don’t have to stay long, just long enough for Ms. Joy to get home so she doesn’t see you going back to your place,” he says. “Come on, I’ll cook you dinner and then take you home in a few hours.”
It’s too late to argue since we’ve already made our way down the sidewalk heading towards the Wyte’s farmFarm. He has a point about needing to play things up still; plus a home cooked meal sounds nice. I let him walk me back to his cabin and step inside once he’s unlocked the door. I slip my coat off and hang it up to dry before setting my bag down on the floor. He moves to flip on the fireplace and smiles at me as he walks into the kitchen.
“What’s that look for?”
He shakes his head at me. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“I was just wondering how it’s possible for you to get more and more beautiful every time I see you.” He says it so easily like it’s the truth.
Don’t swoon. Don’t swoon. Don’t swoon.
“You’re right,” I deadpan. “I don’t believe you.”
He laughs and starts pulling different ingredients out of the fridge and pantry to cook dinner like he promised. A short while later, he’s joining me on the couch with a warm bowl of pasta and cup of hot cider.
“Well, doesn’t this look nice.” I’d been sitting on the couch watching him cook, admiring how fluidly he moves around the kitchen. I can’t even cook myself toast, let alone a full dinner. One day my real husband will need to know how to cook or else we’ll both starve.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” he deflects. “It’s a simple pasta recipe with homemade sauce and fresh garlic I had in the fridge. I hope you like it.”
Taking a bite, I know instantly that I don’t like it, I love it.I let out a pleasant moan at the taste of it and do a little dance where I’m sitting. When I open my eyes to take another bite, I see him watching me with a smile.
“What?” I ask, suddenly embarrassed.
“Nothing, I just think you’re cute is all.”
“Stop it, no you don’t.”
“Who says?” he teases, talking with his mouth full.
“Your wife,” I joke, mocking his comment from earlier.
“I like the sound of you calling yourself my wife.”
