The door closed behind them.
Clara stood on the sidewalk, momentarily alone, and allowed herself exactly three seconds of mortification before the next wave hit.
Sarah Kwan emerged from the café across the street, iced coffee in hand, phone already raised.
"Don't you dare," Clara warned.
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're taking a photo."
"I'm checking my camera settings. Completely unrelated activity." Sarah lowered the phone approximately two degrees. "So. You and Jack."
"Me and Jack."
"Finally."
"It's been three weeks, Sarah. 'Finally' implies some kind of unreasonable delay."
"Three weeks is forever in Beacon's End time. Mrs. Conley started a betting pool after the festival. Maeve has the spreadsheet."
Clara closed her eyes. "There's a spreadsheet."
"It's very detailed. Categories include 'date of first kiss,' 'who made the first move,' and—my personal favorite—'will Clara deny it for more than forty-eight hours after becoming obvious.' I had money on seventy-two hours, so I need you to not confirm anything until Thursday."
"I'm going to murder every single person in this town."
"That's the spirit." Sarah patted her arm. "I'm happy for you, Clara. Really. He's a good one."
"You've met him twice."
"And both times he looked at you like you hung the moon, so I feel confident in my assessment." Sarah's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, eyes widening. "Oh my God, Mrs. Conley just texted the group chat. All caps. Fourteen exclamation points."
"Of course she did."
"Do you want to know what she said?"
"Absolutely not."
"She called you 'lovebirds.' With a heart emoji. Multiple heart emojis."
Clara turned on her heel and walked into the hardware store, where at least the conversation would be about screws.
It didn't get better.
Over the next hour, as they worked through their errand list, Clara and Jack were stopped, congratulated, or aggressively smiled at by no fewer than twelve people. The florist gave Clara a free sprig of wildflowers "just because." The woman at the grocery checkout winked so hard Clara thought she was having a stroke. A man Clara had never seen before shook Jack's hand on the street and said, "Good for you, son."
Jack handled it all with the easy grace of someone who found the whole thing hilarious rather than mortifying, which Clara found both endearing and infuriating.
"You're enjoying this," she accused, as they loaded bags into the boat.
"I'm enjoying watching you try not to spontaneously combust. It's very entertaining."
"My suffering amuses you."
"Your blushing amuses me. There's a difference." He stowed the last bag and offered his hand to help her into the boat. "You know they're happy for you, right? That's all this is. They're not trying to embarrass you. They're just?—"
"Losing their collective minds because a woman held a man's hand? Yes. I'm aware. This town acts like no one has ever dated before."
