"I think this is how I would walk in a mall with my husband," she explains softly, her eyes scanning our surroundings for threats.
I nod, unable to say anything. I can take on an army single-handedly, but I can't handle this beautiful woman hanging onto my arm. Her touch is both comfort and torture.
I’m used to the torture part.
Ironically, it’s the comfort that’s making me squirm.
I have to keep reminding myself that we're just pretending. I'm dangerous for her. Bad for her.
I scan the mall directory, searching for anything that might connect to Static's message.
Cam seems like it would involve a “camera.” We check for camera stores, electronics shops, and anything photography related. Nothing fits.
"What about the drugstore? They do photo printing," Naomi offers.
I shake my head. "That doesn't sound right. I don’t think Static would involve an employee."
"Let's walk around," Naomi suggests, her arm still linked with mine. "Maybe we'll spot something that doesn't show on the directory."
We stroll through the mall, maintaining our couple’s act. I'm hyperaware of every exit, every security camera, every person who looks at us for more than a passing glance.
That's when I spot a small jewelry kiosk in the center of the walkway. A bored kid, maybe nineteen, sits behind the counter, absorbed in his phone.
"There," I say quietly, nodding toward the kiosk.
Naomi follows my gaze. "Jewelry?"
"Wedding rings," I explain. "For our cover."
We approach the stand, and the kid barely looks up. The display case is filled with costume jewelry. Nothing real, nothing expensive, but good enough to pass casual inspection.
Naomi browses the men's bands, bypassing the modern black ones and eventually selecting a simple gold one. "This one, cowboy," she says, holding it up. “You seem like an old school kind of guy.” Her eyes sparkle with amusement.
I find myself scanning the women'srings, oddly invested in finding the right one. I select a silver band with a modest fake diamond surrounded by pale blue stones.
"This one," I say, holding it up. "The blue matches your eyes."
For a moment, we just look at each other. I have the sudden, ridiculous urge to get down on one knee.
I shake off the thought. It’s silly.
But it looks like she can’t say anything either. And that pretty pink is back in her cheeks.
The kid rings us up with barely a glance in our direction.
“Here,” I say, holding out her ring. Instead of taking it, she holds out her hand. No hesitation, I slip the ring onto Naomi's finger, still trying to ignore the fact that I like this a little too much.
"What about that?" Naomi says suddenly, looking over my shoulder. I turn to follow her gaze.
A photo booth stands in the corner. The faded curtain and worn exterior suggest it's been here since the mall opened decades ago.
"Could be," I mutter.
We approach the booth casually, making sure no one's paying attention to us. I hold the curtain open for Naomi, who slides onto the small bench inside. I remove my hat and squeeze in beside her, our thighs pressing together in the cramped space.
"We should probably take some actual photos," she says, feeding bills into the slot.
"Right," I agree, feeling strangely nervous.
