But my Friday night plans didn’t often lead to Saturday afternoon strolls at the town center.
Hell, the whole town had been watching us today.
We were going to be the talk of Red Oak Mountain for the next month, and the thought didn’t bother me even a little bit.
I liked the idea of men thinking she was taken… it delayed the inevitable.
I tightened my grip around her waist and thought about how fast I could get used to this.
Which was a problem.
Because this wasn’t mine to get used to.
It had an end date.
And I had no idea what the hell I was going to do when we hit it.
Plus, there was a serious downside to our agreement with the no-sex clause. I was still working on how to renegotiate that particular part of our agreement.
Maybe if I remind her that babies come from fucking.
I chuckled to myself.
“What are you thinking, Amos? You look sneaky right now,” she told me.
I kissed her cheek. “Naw. You just got my mind going after our conversation. I didn’t know you wanted babies.”
She looked up at me shyly. “Most women want that sort of thing. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I do, too.”
“About that baby stuff. Can we get started right away? I think I know how to make one of those.”
She laughed and swatted me, “FirstI need a husband. Are you volunteering?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m first in line.”
Hmm. What would it be like being married? Starting a family?
The idea felt so far away from my life. I couldn’t raise a family in a logging camp, now could I?
What Shelly wanted and what I had to offer lived in different worlds. I didn’t even have a properbedto offer her.
My brow furrowed as I thought about all the decisions in my life that had led me to this point.
Thirty-six. Unmarried. Perpetually single.
I might have Shelly for thirty days, but what would happen after that?
Chapter 7
Shelly
Real relationships weren’t built on spring festivals and big dates.
They were built in the ordinary spaces in between, and that was what I wanted Amos to understand.
So on a Tuesday evening after my shift at Bookish, a few weeks after we started our fake dating plan, I texted him five words:Red Oak Market. Date night.
He showed up in ripped jeans and a worn flannel that had seen better days, his muddy work boots still carrying the evidence of a long day on the mountain.
