“We'll see how things go,” I said.
The words came out wrong. Noncommittal when I wanted to sayyes, sign us up, put my name next to his.But something closed off behind Jamie's eyes, a door I didn't know how to reopen.
“Right.” He picked up his drink. “We'll see.”
Reid's gaze moved between us, cataloging something I didn't want him to see. He'd known me too long, survived too many of my silences. I could see him filing this moment away for later examination.
“I have to say,” Reid said, his tone deceptively casual, “you're different tonight, Hutchinson. Almost pleasant. It's unsettling.”
“I'm always pleasant.”
“You once told Claire that that her taste in flowers was, and I quote, 'aggressively mediocre.'“
“That was constructive feedback.”
Jamie was watching this exchange with something like wonder. Reid caught the look and leaned back, a ghost of his old smile crossing his face.
“See what I mean? Pleasant. For him, anyway.” He stood, draining the last of his beer. “I'll leave you to your evening. Holden, I'll stop by the shop this week. Tax stuff. I know you'rebehind on your receipts again.” He nodded at Jamie. “Nice to finally meet the man behind the rumors.”
He disappeared back toward the bar. The guitarist launched into something slow, and around us the Tavern kept moving, laughter, glasses clinking, the steady hum of a town enjoying its Saturday night.
Jamie was quiet. His foot had gone still against mine.
“He seems nice,” he said finally. “Reid.”
“He's nosy.”
Jamie traced a finger through the condensation on his glass. “March is a long way off, anyway.”
I heard what he wasn't saying. March meant planning ahead. March meant believing we'd still be doing this in six weeks. And Valentine's Day was the end date we'd agreed to, the finish line of our arrangement, after which he'd have no reason to keep showing up at my shop, my apartment, my life.
My chest tightened. He was giving me an out. Making it easy for me to agree that March was too far, that we didn't need to think that far ahead, that whatever this was had an expiration date stamped on it in red ink.
I took it. Because I was a coward.
“You should join if you want. You'll have your Saturdays back by then,” I said. “No more getting roped into shop duty.”
“And you back to your quiet.” His voice was light. Almost convincing. “That'll be nice for you.”
No.The word caught in my throat like a thorn.It won't be nice. It'll be empty. It'll be the silence I used to think I wanted and now know was just waiting.
But I didn't say it. Just nodded, finished my beer, and told myself the ache in my chest was nothing.
The guitarist sang something about roads not taken. I signaled Denise for the check.
“Should we head out?” Jamie asked. “It's getting late.”
“We could go to my place. It's closer.” I hesitated, the words feeling heavier than they should. “Unless you need to get back.”
“Your place works.” He was already reaching for his jacket.
Outside, snow had started falling.
Not heavy, just a dusting, the kind that made the streetlights glow soft and turned Main Street into something out of a postcard. Jamie glanced around to watch it come down, flakes catching on his eyelashes, his cheeks already going pink from the cold.
We walked the two blocks to the shop without talking. The snow muffled our footsteps, muffled everything, and the silence felt different than it had inside. Less awkward, more charged. Just two people moving through a quiet night, shoulders almost brushing, not quite touching.
The apartment was cold when we got upstairs. I reached for the light, but Jamie's hand caught my wrist. He pulled me toward him in the darkness, and then his mouth was on mine and I stopped thinking about lights.
