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Cheeks red, I averted my eyes. “We aren’t really a couple, though, are we?”
The question served as the ice-cold bath I’d intended it to be. Andy straightened and cleared his throat. “I guess not.”
I pushed forward. “What were you like with your exes? We could just do that.”
“Well, we’re not hanging out with my friends tonight. We’re hanging out with yours, so maybe you should answer that question.”
He had a point.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Not overly affectionate. Not cuddly. Formal, even.”
“Formal?” he laughed. “Are newlyweds normally formal with each other?”
I blew out a breath. I certainly didn’t want to be. If anything, I wanted to revert to that touchy-feely relationship we’d pretended to have in New York. I wanted to have his arms around me and his lips on me. I wanted to curl into him, search out his hand, and sit too close.
That was New York us. Franklin Notch us didn’t do things like that.
“Yes. Formal. Polite. Minimal touching,” I decided reluctantly.
That type of relationship would look right. It’d track with the handful of former boyfriends I’d had.
The ghost of a frown crossed Andy’s face but cleared just as fast. “Alright. Let’s get to it, then. I’m channeling 1950s husband. I love Lucy. Brady Bunch. Leave it to Beaver.”
Somehow, this enthusiasm for the plan didn’t stop the fluttering in my stomach. I pushed my nerves aside and exited the car.
Bob’s Cars hummed with activity, locals filling the six folding tables by the twenty-tap bar and spilling into the aisles. On a normal night, I’d grab a bag of chips or trail mix, but, with my stomach in tatters, a drink sounded more appealing.
“There they are!” Thea called from the bar, her firetruck red lips blooming into a smile as a dozen heads turned toward us.
Andy ran his hand down my back, setting his palm on my hip and guiding me toward the bar.
“I thought we said polite?” I murmured, glancing back at him.
“I am being polite,” he said with a grin before tightening his grip on my hip and pulling me back, kissing the side of my forehead.
“Aw!” Thea gushed as we reached the bar. “You’re both too adorable.” An edge of teasing laced her voice, even as her eyes wandered down to Andy’s hands on me. “How’s newlywed life?”
“Never better,” Andy said without waiting for me to respond. “What do you want to drink? I’ll let you catch up with Thea and say hi to everyone. Give Cal a chance to calm down before I approach him.”
I rattled off a beer and ignored Thea’s giggles as Andy squeezed my hip before letting go.
“Well, aren’t you two cozy?”
My cheeks burned, thinking about how cozy we’d become. Three weeks didn’t seem long, but we’d settled into a familiar pattern that may have involved more touching than a standard fake marriage.
“How’s your wrist?”
I twisted it, running my thumb along the healed incision. “Good. Not healing as fast as I wanted, and I’m a little afraid I’ve lost some mobility, but the physical therapist said I’m on track, and the doctors are happy.”
“Good. And your brothers?”
Len visited me twice in the intervening weeks, once with Millie and once alone. The second time, he dropped off a piece of art for my bedroom, which he said looked “depressing,” a tremendous insult from someone who kept his house museum-bare.
Cal, on the other hand, only called. He hadn’t bothered to visit.
“They’re adjusting. Len is ambivalent. Slightly annoyed, but I think that’s because he feels like I jumped some invisible line by getting married before he proposed to Millie.”
“And Cal?” Thea stopped us short of the table, out of earshot.
