Heart pounding, I brace against the counter, watching as he pulls the lasagna out of the oven and turns to me with an excited grin. “It’s ready.”
I swallow hard. Dinner may be ready, but I’m not.
Chapter Eighteen
Jared
Emily cuts through the market crowd with ease, her silver hair catching sunlight as she weaves between shoppers. I follow in her wake, fighting the urge to reach for her hand each time the crowd threatens to separate us.
The list in her grip flutters in the breeze, hardware items checked off one by one, while I focus on the rhythm of her work boots thudding on the sidewalk, anchoring myself to the sound instead of the whispers that follow us.
“Three-inch galvanized deck screws,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me, adjusting her course toward a hardware stall nestled between a flower vendor and a cheesemonger. The scent of fresh-cut lilacs mingles with aged cheddar, an oddcombination that somehow works in the chaos of Pinecrest’s Saturday market.
The last few dinners we’ve shared linger in my mind, of Emily sitting across from me, eating the meal we made together, the soft light catching in her silver hair as Mixie purred between us. Last night, she’d let her guard drop, her foot not moving away from mine under the small table.
Since that first kiss earlier in the week, I’ve held back, recognizing that pushing for more than she already gave would only make her retreat. But I couldn’t resist asking to accompany her today, inventing thin excuses about needing supplies myself.
A shopper bumps into my shoulder, a scowl twisting his face when he recognizes me. He mutters under his breath, veering away as if I’m contagious. The viral video may be old now, as far as social media goes, but the rumor mill continues to thrive.
“Ignore him,” Emily says without turning, her hearing sharper than I expected. “He’s the same guy who got drunk at the town festival and threw up in the mayor’s flowerbed.”
A quiet huff escapes me despite the knot in my stomach. “How do you know that?”
“I rebuilt his deck last summer. Heard all abouthis ‘unfair’ public intoxication citation.” She peers back, her gray eyes softening when they meet mine. “Small towns have long memories, but short attention spans. Something new will come along.”
Her words are meant to comfort, but we’re both aware this might not blow over so fast.
We reach the hardware stall, where Emily runs her fingers over bins of nails and screws with the critical eye others might reserve for jewelry. “Henry, has my order come in yet?”
The vendor, a weathered man with callused hands, tips his chin in greeting. “Back corner, same as always.”
Emily turns to me, her shoulder brushing mine. “Look around. I need to check these against my specs.”
The casual contact sends warmth spreading across my skin, leaving me feeling ridiculous. I’m not some teenager with a crush, yet here I stand, mesmerized by the brief pressure of her arm brushing mine.
How soon can I coax her into another kiss? How soon before I can have her melting into my arms again?
Emily’s head lifts from sorting through metal fastenings, red tingeing her cheeks. “Go on, then. Stop staring at me.”
Old Henry chuffs in amusement. “To be young again.”
Heat flickers under my skin, no doubt my pheromones, so I drop my gaze and reach for the screwdrivers. I pretend to compare sizes, stealing glances as she moves down the display. She handles every tool, weighing it, testing it.
I catch myself wanting to smooth the crease in her brow and cup her hand to feel what makes her discard one tool while approving another.
Someone bumps into the display next to me, sending a box of washers clattering to the ground, and a voice breaks through my reverie. “Sorry, excuse me?—”
I bend to help collect them, finding myself face-to-face with Grady Finch. His cane hooks over his forearm as he balances a grocery bag on his hip, awkwardly stooping to gather the scattered metal pieces.
“It’s okay, I got it.” I scoop up handfuls of washers, noting how his bad leg extends to the side.
“Thanks. Clumsier than usual today.” Grady straightens, and recognition dawns. “Oh, hey, Jared. Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”
The simple acknowledgment without judgment settles over me like a gift. “Just running errands.”
He adjusts his hold on his grocery bag, which emits the faint scent of fresh bread. “You’re still staying with Emily?”
Heat creeps up my neck. “For now.”