“Time alone? In this small town?” he teases.
“Everyone will be talking about you at brunch tomorrow.” June presses her fingers against her mustache, but it still slides sideways.
“I was afraid of that,” I mumble. And as much as I sort of dread being swapped around like social currency, there are six weeks until my deadline, and the store’s revenue has been steadily creeping up since those pictures of us at the hospital were spread across social media.
The expansion might actually be possible if I can squirrel away enough for the first and last months’ rent.
Jack makes sure Bridget and June are set to go home andhelps them with their ride. Meanwhile, I press my back against the dark-stained shiplap walls and try to make myself disappear.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You look like you’re ready to bolt.”
I am. Standing this close to him, feeling the heat of his body, the way he smells like something clean and woodsy under the polyester nun costume, it’s too much.
“I’m fine.”
His hand tightens on my hip, and his thumb brushes against the sliver of skin above the waist of my skirt. “Liar.”
“Everyone just believes us?”
“Isn’t that the point?” He leans in, resting one hand by my ear against the wall.
I roll my hips, my body craving something I have no right asking for.
“Oooh, watch out there, Murphy. That mermaid is going to lure you to your death,” Mr. Leechman says before stuffing a cookie into his mouth. “Don’t forget to visit the PTA bake sale, kids!”
I roll my eyes, but my breath catches as Jack tucks a curl behind my ear.
“Starting to believe it.”
The DJ slows things down, and couples pair off. Jack raises an eyebrow in question.
No. Absolutely not.
But I’m already nodding, because I’m an idiot.
He pulls me onto the floor, his hands on my waist, mine resting on his shoulders like we’re awkward tweens at some middle school dance. Except I’m very aware he is not a tween.
“What?” he asks.
I shake my head, unable to fight my smile. “You look ridiculous.”
“And you look—” He stops himself, jaw tightening. His eyes dip to my mouth.
I know exactly what he’s thinking, and the worst part is, I’m wondering the same.
“We should probably talk about the rules,” he says, clearing his throat.
I sway a little closer, curling my fingers at the base of his neck. His skin is warm and smooth, and the little space between us disappears. His fingers flex at my waist before he swallows and drags me flush against him.
“This okay?” he asks.
I nod, tripping a step. He doesn’t let me fall, doesn’t allow me a chance to be embarrassed.
Jack traces his other hand up to the side of my face, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone. The DJ lights flash, throwing shadows across his features, but those eyes of his are full of want that makes me forget my name. He blinks hard and grips my waist tighter.
