Page 67 of Love Felt Like This

It’s unnatural.

We hold hands the same way he does with Ava: fingers cupped, not intertwined. He may as well be dropping me off at elementary school. This isn’t intimate. This is nothing at all.

“We’re just waiting on Rob,” I say.

Fran eyes the display case, crossing her arms and leaning in. “Aw, reminiscing on the good ole days?”

“Sure,” I say.

Fran peers through the glass, and I side-eye Griffin. He’s already staring at me—a swirl of the richest mahogany and leather. I look away.

Anxiety skitters down my spine. I attempt to slither my hand out of his, but his palm clutches mine closer. He holds us in place, our hands still cupped together like kids on the playground, as if we’ve decided we’re friends.

Fran gestures to another display case down the hall. “Oh, make sure you check out this other one. We just added it. I think you’ll love it. Your grandpa was a special man.”

“Oh,” I say, choking out, “yes. Thank you.”

Griffin grips my palm tighter.

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Fran says. “I’m gonna get back. Teacher scheduling and all.”

“Right,” I answer.

Fran walks away, but not before stealing one last glance at our clasped hands.

When she’s gone, Griffin loosens his hold, and I finally slip my hand from his.

It’s silent.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Hmm?” I blink out of my heated daze, already missing the warmth of his hand.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

My lips part. “What?”

“Pretending to date me.”

Uncomfortable isn’t the word I’d use. Not when I’m still thinking about his roughened fingers grazing over mine. But one look at the photo behind the glass reminds me I’m standing in the same building where Beau and I snuck around the theater many, many times to do many, many things that teenagers do. And now I’m here, holding hands with someone else.

Griffin’s eyebrows turn in. It’s concern. I don’t know if Griffin has ever directed that level of worry toward me.

“No,” I finally answer. “It’s not uncomfortable…I mean, yes. I don’t know,” I confess. “I’ve just…I’ve never done this before. Had a fake boyfriend.”

“Well,” Griffin takes a step closer. “Is holding hands fine?”

“Holding hands is fine,” I answer, my mind zipping. Warm palms, abrasive fingers, large hands.

“Anything else?”

“No.” My nose wrinkles at my bluntness. Yes, but also…no? “I don’t know?”

“What about any hard lines?” he asks.

As if on instinct, my eyes dart to his lips and then to the floor.

“Kissing,” I blurt out. “Probably don’t…ahem, want to do that.”