“It’s not.”
“Then stop saying it in that voice.”
His eyes darken. “What voice?”
“That voice.”
“The one I use when I’m warning you?”
“No, the one you use when you’re thinking about bending me over your workbench.”
His jaw flexes. His gaze flicks to the street, like he needs a second to reel it in. “You’re gonna be trouble tonight.”
“I am trouble.”
“Yeah.” His eyes come back to mine, hotter. “That’s the part I like.”
Before I can react, a herd of women bursts out the community center doors—Mrs. Pruitt from the bakery, Vi from the Gazette, Paisley from the library, Sheila who runs the nature center. They’re already squealing.
“There they are!”
“Copper Mountain’s hottest couple!”
“Get over here, you two!”
I grin and link my arm through Clay’s. “Showtime, fiancé.”
He looks down at the contact, then at me, then at the crowd. I feel that muscle in his cheek tick. “Behave.”
“Make me.”
He exhales through his nose like I’m the world’s cutest pain in the ass and escorts me inside.
The room’s decked out in twinkle lights and pine garland, handmade wreaths lining the walls. I did some of them last year for extra cash. It hurts a little to see them and know I don’t have a place to make more. Smells like chili, cider, and the entire town’s business.
We’ve been “engaged” less than a week and everyone in Copper Mountain acts like they watched him propose at sunset on a ski slope while I cried over cocoa.
“Ember!” Vi swoops in, tablet in hand, eyes glued to us like she’s collecting data. “Can we steal you two for a photo for the Gazette follow-up?”
Clay mutters under his breath, “I knew she’d do a follow-up.”
“To death,” I murmur back.
He tightens his arm around mine, pulls me in closer, like we’ve been doing this forever. The way his body shields mine from the crowd—it should make me feel trapped. It doesn’t. It makes me feel…tucked. Kept. Warm.
Which is dangerous.
“Just one shot!” Vi says. “Well…maybe three.”
“Smile,” I whisper up at him.
He doesn’t.
So I pinch his side.
He grunts, then gives the camera a look that lands halfway between long-suffering and smoldering. Vi actually fans herself.
“You two are unreal,” she says. “It’s like fate.”
