“Youaresoft,” she says instantly.
I pin her with a stare. “I am not.”
“You stayed.”
“You were crying on Main.”
“I cry pretty.”
“You cry loud.”
“You liked it.”
I huff a laugh, shake my head. “You’re impossible.”
“You like that too.”
I cross to her.
I don’t mean to.
But I do.
Her eyes flick up, half warning, half invite. “What are you doing?”
“Laying down some actual rules,” I tell her. “’Cause clearly mine didn’t get heard the first time.”
“Ohhh,” she says, eyes bright. “The firefighter’s gonna discipline me.”
I lift a brow. “You want that?”
She sucks in a breath, cheeks going warm. “Not answering that.”
“Thought so.”
I plant my hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in. Not touching. Close. Her breath stutters, lips parting.
“Clay,” she whispers.
“Here’s how this works,” I say, voice rough. “You wanna play fiancée in public? Fine. You wanna make mugs and run that pretty mouth? Fine. But you don’t get to go around telling the whole goddamn town I’m some lovesick hero without understanding what that looks like.”
Her eyes search mine. “And what does it look like?”
“It looks like me showing up,” I growl. “It looks like me in your space. It looks like me making sure you’re okay. It looks like me carrying your shit and fixing your car and replacing your smoke alarms and standing next to you at every town event until this thing is over.”
Her pulse flutters at her throat. I see it. I track it.
“Sounds real,” she whispers.
“It’sfake.”
“Feels real.”
“That’s the problem,” I bite out.
We stare at each other. Tension spikes, electric and hot and stupid.
I look at her mouth.
