But she’s efficient. Competent. Too competent.
And every time she looks at me with those knowing eyes, I get this tight, twisting feeling in my chest like I’m supposed toknowher. Like she’s not a stranger. Like this has happened before.
But I’d remember a woman like her.
Wouldn’t I?
She breaks the silence first. “So, there’s a wedding next weekend.”
I grunt. “I know. My buddy Slate’s finally roped Emma into making it official.”
“I met Winter at the park yesterday. She says it’s a big deal. Half the town’ll be there.”
I nod, not looking up. “They expect me to show up with a date. Told them not happening.”
She hums. “Well, lucky for you, I’m available.”
I glance up sharply. She’s leaning against the sawhorse now, arms crossed, smirking. “You offering?”
“You need a buffer, don’t you? Someone to keep them from cornering you about your nonexistent love life.”
I snort. “To say the least.”
“So, I’ll be your fake date.” Her tone is playful, but there’s something else beneath it. Testing the water.
“Why?”
She lifts a shoulder. “It’s festive. It’ll be fun. And it buys me more time.”
My jaw tightens. “Time for what?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Just bites her bottom lip and looks at me like she’s carrying a secret too big for her pocket.
“For you to prove if you’re worth trusting,” she says finally, quiet but direct.
The air thickens. “You think I’m not?”
“I think you’re gruff. Closed off. Suspicious of everything that breathes.”
I cross my arms. “And you’re not?”
She tips her head. “Touché.”
I step closer again, slow. Deliberate. Watching her squirm just a little.
“So if we’re fake dating,” I say, “we’ll have to be convincing.”
Her eyes narrow. “You suggesting we practice?”
“Only if you’re brave enough.”
She laughs, breathless. “You’re impossible.”
“You haven’t seen me try.”
She spins on her heel before I can respond, walking toward the front door with a sway in her hips that’s 100% intentional.
“You’re not ready for me, Jack Rivers,” she throws over her shoulder.
