Decent runner, though.
“Thanks for the help tonight,” I say as he assembles the sandwiches and places them on the pan. “I really appreciate it.”
“I was happy to do it,” he answers. “I meant what I said, Pres. We’re a team now. I can help with the bar’s financials, but I can just as easily cover behind the bar.”
“You were pretty good at it.”
“Prettygood?” He raises an eyebrow.
“You know how good you are.” I roll my eyes. “Do you really need me to stroke your ego?”
“Of course I do, but I’m always up for a little…stroking.” He waggles his eyebrows in an overly suggestive manner, and I choke out a laugh. He grins.
I watch as he butters the bread and assembles the sandwiches. The flirty banter has me thinking about earlier.
“Do you think we need rules?”
He looks up from the pan, a note of curiosity in his expression. “I thought we already had those.”
“Setting an exit plan and deciding what we’ll tell people is more like building the foundation than actually creating rules.”
“Okay,” he agrees with a slow nod. “So what were you thinking?”
I steady myself and gather the courage I need to say, “I think we should keep things platonic.”
His eyes meet mine, and for a split second, there is a searing intensity in those green eyes that makes my stomach flip. Then, a moment later, he straightens, and it’s gone. “I’m sleeping on the couch, Pres. I figured that was implied.”
“Right.” I laugh nervously. “Of course.”
“But we will have to make an exception when we’re around others—like your family or friends. They’ll expect a certain level of…intimacy.”
I gulp. “Sure.”
“And we might want to practice?—”
“Practice?” My voice jumps an entire octave.
“You didn’t let me finish.” He chuckles, making me blush. “We might want to try holding hands in public or whatever so we don’t appear awkward around each other.”
“Oh.” I relax. “Yeah, that makes sense. But that’s all it is? Practice?” His eyes meet mine again. “Because I don’t want there to be any confusion. You’re my friend, Hollis. I can’t risk that.”
His hand finds mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Just practice, Pres.” I nod, unsure what to feel. Grateful, maybe? For his understanding. But all I feel is a sharp wave of sadness.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
“What else you got?”
“Oh, um…” I pause, biting my lip. This one I’m even less sure about, but I need to say it. “I don’t think we should date, even if we’re not?—”
“Done.”
He flips the sandwiches, each a rich golden brown. The kitchen smells like melted cheese and butter. My stomach growls.
My brow lifts. “Just like that?”
He sets the spatula down, giving me his full attention. “Pres, you are my wife. Even if that is in name only, it means something to me. I would never even think of looking at another woman while your ring is on my finger.”
Emotions clog my throat, and I’m at a loss for words. “Okay,” I manage to say.
