“It would be horrible if people found out that Alexander Kingston is cheating on his wife with an intern… that is… if the rumors are true. Can’t wait for our next date, Holly.”
I place the paper on the top of the stack of text threats and quickly cover it with the other papers I’ve filled out. My stomach churns at the thought of the damage a simple rumor could do to Alex’s career. Jorge could ruin years of work with a simple fake exposé to a popular magazine.
My pulse races, and my mind begins another depressing spiral. I look away from the papers and refocus, reminding myself I’m taking steps to fight back and prevent all the threats from actually happening.
My gaze lands on Mateo and peace spreads through my chest.
A quick glance at the clock above the couch, and I realize it’s been over an hour and a half since Mateo got here. He’s been so quiet as I’ve filled out paper after paper.
My stomach growls. I only managed to force down a slice of toast this morning. My anxiety-induced nausea made it impossible to eat more, knowing Mateo would be coming over today.
I set my pen down, straighten my papers, and spin my chair toward Mateo.
“Do you want to go get lunch?”
His smile is instantaneous. “Absolutely. Do you like sandwiches? Reina told me I need to try a sandwich at Mendocino Farms.”
“Considering it has the word ‘farm’ in it, you definitely need to have a sandwich from there. Alex and I would go there often after I first bought my house. It’s a favorite of mine.”
He slaps his hands on his knees before standing. “What are we waiting for? There’s a sandwich calling my name.” He walks to the door and opens it for me. “My lady,” he says with a mock bow in my direction as he gestures out the door.
I can’t help but grin. I never thought I’d be glad to marry a farm boy who suggests sandwiches instead of caviar, but I find that I am.
Chapter 9
Stinkin’ Ring
Holly
We talk about sandwiches on the way to Mendocino’s. I’ve learned I’m about to be married to a starving omnivore, which is surprising because I thought Mateo would totally be the carnivore type.
Mateo lists vegetables, lettuce types, and then the layers of meat he loves on his sandwiches. I can’t help but laugh. “How do you fit all that food into your mouth? Does it even fit on a sandwich?”
He flexes his muscles. “You just need to have big muscles like mine so you can squish it and hold it all together as you take the biggest bites of your life.”
I poke his bicep, which is a lot more solid than I expected. Not that I had expectations, of course. I poke it a second time for good measure because he’s still holding out his arm toward me, flexing. “Hm, I expected more.”
He feigns shock, yanking his arm away from me to place his hand over his heart in a dramatic fashion. “Excuse me. Those are hard-earned muscles, ma’am. These ain’t no gym boy muscles.” He fakes what I’d call a redneck accent that has me holding in my giggles. “They’re hard work muscles from workin’ outside every day. They’re stronger than they look.”
“Simmer down, hotshot. I believe you,” I tease as I reach over and pokehis arm again. He flexes and I can’t deny it: those ain’t no gym boy muscles.
“I can’t believe my fiancée just made fun of my muscles,” he mutters as he turns into the parking lot.
“I can’t feed your ego, farm boy. Gotta keep you humble.” I shrug, throwing him a playful smirk.
He shakes his head, a wide smile on his face, his eyes crinkling with laughter.
He parks the car, and I hop out, not waiting for him to get my door. He meets me around the front and reaches toward me, interlacing his fingers with mine. I stumble over nothing as we walk, my body overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand.
My heart welcomes the contact, feeling comforted by his callused palm against my soft one. My heart races while simultaneously being soothed. I feel turned upside down while feeling grounded, and the dichotomy of my feelings is not lost on me.
Mateo holds the restaurant door open for me, and as we stand in line to order, his hand squeezes mine. I look up into his warm eyes and the combination of physically touching him, and the way he’s looking at me has my breathing ragged. I can’t get enough oxygen in here.
Mateo leans down, his voice soft and quiet. “Hey, today is a good day. I hope holding hands is okay. I figure we are engaged, so we better start acting like it.” He winks, and it’s that goofy move that has my heart settling.
We’re acting. Holding hands doesn’t have to mean anything. We can be two friends who hold hands and enjoy being in each other’s company, simple as that.
It’s simple.
