It only takes a few minutes to walk to the closest diner. I go to the Country Kitchen Café at least once a week, so it’s no surprise that Rosy’s face lights up when we walk through the door. Thankfully, she’s one of the people in town who haven’t resigned from the Knox Cooke fan club.
“Rosy, darling. It’s been way too long,” I say, dramatically clutching my chest. I can feel Emery burning daggers in the back of my head.
“Hey, kid,” she says with a smile that I know she keeps locked and loaded for me. “I see you have a friend today.”
“I do,” I reply, pride glowing warmly across my face. “And it’s kind of our first date, so I’ll take your finest booth.” A tiny mouse-like growl of irritation squeaks out of Emery in response.
Rosy grabs two menus before seating us at one of the booths near the front window. She even picks one that’s been recently patched up, so we won’t have to dodge any loose springs.
“Thanks, Rosy,” I say, flashing her a warm grin. “We’ll take two waters while we look over the menu.”
She nods and skips back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with a very unhappy blast from the past. When I turn back to Emery, her eyes cut through me like two freshly powered lasers.
“I can order for myself,” she grunts, landing a soft kick to my right shin under the table.
“Ouch!” I yelp, grabbing my injured leg. Those boots were no joke. “I know you’re a feminist, but there’s this thing called being a gentleman, and I fully exercise that right.”
“The kick was for telling her it’s our first date before we even set ground rules.”
“I’m sorry I jumped the gun, sugar. Please forgive me? I don’t want this minor inconvenience to ruin our first da?—”
“Knox, so help me God, I will walk out of this diner, and you can say goodbye to our deal.”
“Slow down, Bambi,” I say, leaning into the table. “I promise I’ll be good for the next hour.”
Emery rolls her eyes while grabbing the menu in front of her. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
I shrug, leaving my own menu firmly placed on the table. I get the same thing every time I come here. “Listen, Emery. This might have been my idea, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re running the show. If I cross the line or do anything you don’t like, just let me know, and I’ll back off. I won’t touch you or say anything to other people about you without your consent.”
“Where was this speech five minutes ago?” she asks, a shadow of a smile teasing me.
“Let me rephrase,” I state, slapping a hand against my chest. “I will not touch you or say anything to other people about you without your consent starting now.”
“Right,” she hums, her eyes running up and down the menu.
“So, what are these ground rules then? I’m on the edge of my seat.”
Emery lets out a frustrated puff of air and sets down her menu before clasping her hands and setting them on the table. She leans forward and narrows her eyes in a way that makes me squirm. Not to mention, she looks powerful and commanding with her slicked-back bun. It makes me want to shut up for once.
“Rule one,” she says firmly, “no surprises. That means no calling me ‘sugar,’ ‘babe,’ or any other word you think is charming just because you’re in boots and know how to smile.”
She doesn’t mention Bambi on her little list, so I take that as a win. “Got it. No pet names.”That don’t already exist.
She nods once, flattening her hands against the table. “Rule two: You don’t touch me unless we’ve agreed on itahead of time. This is fake and boundaries aren’t a suggestion.”
“Fair enough,” I say with one succinct nod. I fight the urge to tell her that her sharp and serious tone is really doing something for me.
“Rule three,” she continues, her eyes still laser-focused on me. “No fucking around behind the scenes. If we’re doing this, then I don’t want people to think you’re cheating on me. Then again, you shouldn’t do that regardless because of the whole image issue.”
“Got it. You want me all to yourself.” Sometimes she makes it way too easy. That’s not my fault.
Emery rolls her eyes, but rattles off a few more rules that I nod my head to like a good little boy. I even keep most of my comments to myself, which is huge for me.
“I have a rule too,” I continue, waiting until after Rosy comes and sets our waters down. “The more people who know we’re not actually together, the less convincing it is. So, we shouldn’t tell anyone else.”
I catch the slightest hint of unease unraveling her composure, but she quickly snaps back into serious mode. “Fine. And finally, if anyone asks how we met, we stick to the story.”
I arch a brow. “Which is?”
