Then settles briefly at my waist.
Warm. Familiar.
My body responds automatically, leaning into the contact.
Behind him, a door opens.
Phil’s hand drops.
Not violently.
Not guiltily.
Just… gone.
An older man steps out, pausing when he sees us.
“Oh,” he says.
His eyes move between us.
Phil steps back.
“This is Christina,” he says, his voice careful now. “She runs the flower shop in the village.”
Not my Christina.
Just Christina.
I force a smile.
“Hi.”
The man nods politely.
“Well,” he says, looking at Phil again, “don’t let me interrupt.”
He disappears back inside.
The door closes.
The space between us stays exactly as it is.
Phil looks at the paper bag in my hands.
“What did you bring?”
His voice is softer now. Controlled.
“Bacon butty.”
He nods.
“Thank you.”
He reaches for the paper bag, his fingers brushing mine as he takes it.
“You’re welcome.”