She grabs the mini chalkboard from the table and uses it to fan herself. “Easy, Captain. You save that sexy talk for home.”
I laugh and sit across the small, round table from Kayla. Our knees brush as we settle into a crisscrossed puzzle of limbs beneath the table. When we each lean forward, I grab her hand, rubbing circles in her soft palm like we’ve done this a million times. Like it’s old hat.
As if anything about touching Kayla could be “old.”
Familiar, yes.
Habit-forming, absolutely.
Old?
Never.
“Green Goals and Hunk O’ Chunky Monkey Love for Sean?” someone behind the counter says.
Kayla titters with laughter. “That’s my man’s,” she says loudly, looking around at the other patrons. “That’s my husband’s order. Sean O’Shannan. His favorite smoothie is the Hunk O’ Chunky Monkey Love. He gets itall the time. It’s?—”
I try to cover her mouth with my hand, laughing and shaking my head. She dodges, grabbing my hand and tugging it down. “Sorry, Captain. You order the silliest thing on the menu, and I’m gonna call you on it. It’s Wife 101.”
I grab the smoothies and return to the table and my spot. Our knees are touching immediately.
Kayla takes a long sip, and then she sighs. “Mmm.”
“Good?”
“Amazing. Want to try?”
She angles it toward me, and I wrap my lips around her straw and take a drink, aware my mouth is where hers was only a moment ago. And judging by how her eyes are focused on my mouth, so is she.
Don’t let anyone tell you sharing a straw’s not hot.
“Not bad,” I tell her.
“No, it’s heavenly.”
“I prefer heaven without the kale.”
She gasps and touches her hand to her chest. “Blasphemy.”
“Don’t say that at the next potluck. Eunice thinks it’s blasphemous to joke about blasphemy.”
“Duly noted. I need all the help I can get.” She licks smoothie from her straw and curls her fingers around mine.
And wouldn’t you know it, but in walk Eunice, Loretta, and some church ladies I recognize from Sugar Maple.
The ladies from Sugar Maple walk up to the counter, but Eunice and Loretta make a bee-line for our table.
Almost as if they were tipped off.
Their eyes are all over us—inspecting our posture, examining our faces, scrutinizing our wedding rings, like they half-suspect they came from a Cracker Jack box.
When they’re satisfied that we look sufficiently in love, Loretta’s eyes flick down to the white cropped top that hits right where Kayla’s high-waisted leggings end. Her hair’s pulled into a high ponytail that sways like it has opinions, and her lips are a deliciously glossed pink that belongs in a fruit salad.
Loretta crosses her arms, gaze honing in on our joined hands and wedding rings.
“Heard you two made quite the scene at City Hall today,” Loretta says. “But that can’t be right, because abillionairewouldn’t go to a meeting in City Hall wearingleggings.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” I say. “Because we didn’t go to the meeting. We were dropping off paperwork.”
