“Send that one to Emma. She’ll be happy.”
He takes it, glancing down at the photo, and there’s that same small shift in his expression: it’s quiet, pleased.
“Yeah,” he says. “She will.”
I lean against the counter again, folding the cloth in my hands.
“Look at you,” I add lightly. “Responsible, prepared, documenting proof of ring retrieval. Very impressive.”
“Well, I am the mate of honor, so…”
“Wait,” I manage, doing a double take. “Mate of honor?”
He shrugs, like it’s not at all something I need more information about. “Are there duties? A sash? A speech?”
“Definitely a speech,” he says, more visibly relaxed now that the photo session is over. “Still working on not making it terrible.”
“Strong starting point,” I say. “Aim low, exceed expectations.”
“That’s the plan.” His phone buzzes in his hand. “But, the lead up to her big day has been a lot of me doing favors for Emma.”
“The job of the ‘mate of honor,’” I say, giving him a quick wink like I’m in on a secret. “You know, they do sell books on how to be in a wedding party.”
“Like maid of honor duties for dummies?” Ty asks, that dangerous grin of his returning at the same time his phone buzzes yet again.
“Exactly,” I say, matching his grin as his phone buzzes one more time. I glance down at it, then back up at him, lifting a brow. “I’m guessing someone really wants to get a hold of you.”
He exhales, glancing at the screen. “Yeah. Emma’s got one of the moms from the girls’ team reaching out to me today.”
His thumb hovers over the screen like he’s debating whether to answer it right now.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Something I need to talk to her about regarding her daughter and practice.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding. “Coach life.”
“Something like that.”
The bell above the door chimes, cutting through the moment, and I glance up automatically. An older woman steps inside, hair perfectly styled and posture perfect, already scanning the cases with purpose.
“Hi, welcome,” I call, slipping easily back into shop mode. Sometimes it’s safest to pretend.
When I look over at Ty, he’s already tucking his phone into his pocket.
“I should probably—” he starts.
“Go,” I say. “It was nice talking to you.”
A small smile pulls at his mouth.
“Yeah,” he says. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday.”
“You will, and prepare to be pulled in again,” I playfully remind him.
“Right.” He hesitates for half a second—long enough to register, but not long enough to turn into anything more—then nods once and heads for the door.
The bell chimes behind him as he steps outside, disappearing into the crowd milling past on the sidewalk this morning.
