My hand stayed where it was. Longer than necessary.
Jamie's breath caught. I felt it more than heard it, the slight hitch in his chest under my fingertips.
I pulled my hand back too fast, punched in the override code, and the register drawer popped open with a cheerful ding.
“There,” I said. My voice came out rougher than intended.
“Thanks.” His wasn't much better.
The bell over the door saved us both.
Mrs. Morgansen from the bakery came in looking for something for her sister's birthday. I let Jamie handle the greeting while I retreated to the back, but I could hear him through the doorway. Nervous chatter at first, then settling into something warmer as he found his footing.
“—helping my boyfriend out until he hires someone,” he was saying, and the word landed like a punch. Boyfriend. Right. That was the story we were selling. “I'm just here to help with the busy season.”
“Oh, how wonderful.” Mrs. Morgansen's voice carried genuine warmth. “Holden's been so alone since Lynda retired. It's good to see him with someone.”
I should go out there. Play the part. Instead I stood in the back room with my hands braced on the workbench, listening to Jamie improvise details about our relationship for a woman who would tell her husband, who would tell his customers, who would tell the whole town.
“He's not much of a talker,” Jamie was saying. “But when he does talk, it's usually worth hearing.”
Something twisted in my chest.
When Mrs. Morgansen left, Jamie appeared in the doorway. “So I may have told her we've been seeing each other for a month, that we met right after I moved here. Is that okay? I panicked.”
“A month.”
“She asked how long, and I just, a month seemed believable. Long enough to be real, short enough that people wouldn't wonder why they hadn't seen us together before.”
It was smart. “A month works.”
“Good.” He was still watching me, those hazel eyes too perceptive. “You okay? You look tense.”
“I'm fine.”
He chuckled. “Well that's not convincing.” But he let it drop, and the rest of the morning disappeared into orders and questions and Jamie moving around the shop like he was learning its rhythms. He was terrible at most things, but he was willing to learn. And present in a way that made the hours feel shorter.
Around noon, he checked his phone and winced. “I've got a client call in thirty minutes. Logo revisions for a brewery that doesn't know what it wants.”
“Go. You're not obliged to be here in the afternoon.”
He'd learned to work the credit card machine, at least. Small victories.
“Right, thanks. But this was fun. Sorry for fucking up so much. I'll be better tomorrow.” Jamie untied the apron, hung it back on the hook. He looked smaller without it. “Hey, I was thinking, Brandy says the Ridgeline Tavern is good. For our dinner thing. Wednesday, maybe?”
“Wednesday works.” I wondered what else Brandy might have told him.
“Seven?”
“Seven's fine.”
He grinned at me, warm and sunny. “It's a date. A fake date. You know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.”
At the door, he paused with his hand on the frame. “Hey. Sorry about the roses. And the order forms. And the register.” He winced. “I'm probably more trouble than I'm worth. You'd get more done without me knocking things over.”
“You weren't trouble.”
