We walk side by side, and without looking, he reaches for my hand. Our fingers brush. Instead of pulling away, he laces them together. My breath stutters. His thumb rests against my finger, slowly sweeping back and forth as if he’s done this a hundred times.
He leans in, his breath warm near my ear. “Is this okay? I thought the handholding might make it seem more real.”
I nod. “Yes. Good call.”
It’s been years since anyone held my hand like this. With Miles, it feels effortless. You’d think I was the one who needed the confidence boost, not the other way around. Still, something in my belly flutters. But I didn’t come here for me. Not to feel… chosen. I’m here for Miles. I push the thought away.
Seven
The Bounce House Rub
Miles
With Nora’s hand clasped around mine, I expected my palm to be clammy, my fingers to lock, and my pulse to thud so loud everyone within a five-mile radius could hear it. I figured my brain would dissect the angle, pressure, whether I’m doing too much or not enough before inevitably panicking and letting go. But… none of that happened.
Instead, my grip settles easily around hers. Warmth seeps into my skin, and the tension that normally camps between my shoulders loosens a notch. My thumb even makes small, absent sweeps over her knuckles—something I didn’t have to coach myself into. Handholding is unfamiliar territory, but this is part of selling the fake relationship. Right? This is what couples do. Still… if this is what “fake” feels like, I might be in trouble.
“Are you a corner piece, edge piece, or center piece person?” I ask.
“Corner or edge.” A smile tugs at her lips. “I have a sweet tooth for frosting. Especially whipped.”
“Corner or edge it is.”
When we reach the picnic table, I let go of her hand and immediately register how cold my palm feels. “Take a seat. I’ll grab us a couple of pieces.”
“I can come with you.”
“You’re my date. I’ll get it.”
She nods, and warmth spreads through me. I head toward the cake table, where Melanie is already mid-serve.
“Can I get a corner piece and a center one?”
As she hands me two plates, her mouth quirks to one side. “I really like her.”
“Who?”
She exhales slowly, shoulders dipping. “Nora… she’s not who I expected to see you with.” Her mouth lifts into a smile. “But you two are really cute together.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Yeah. She’s great.”
“And please don’t ruin it by launching into weird facts. Like how flamingos aren’t born pink.”
“But they’re not.”
“Yes, their diet turns them pink. We know. The rest of the world does not need a lecture.”
I nod once. “Understood.” I carry the plates back and set one in front of Nora before taking the seat beside her.
Her eyes flick to my slice. “So… you’re an inside piece person.”
My gaze drops to the square of cake on my plate. “Yeah. I’m more Team Cake than frosting.”
She scoops up a heaping forkful of pink whipped sugar. “Team Frosting all the way. You’re missing out.”
Her lips close around the tines. Slowly. I rip my gaze away. Do not stare at the woman eating frosting.
“Does your family always go all out for celebrations?”
