“Intrigued?”
“Completely gone for you, actually. But intrigued sounds less pathetic.”
The teasing warmth in his voice makes something flutter low in my stomach. This is supposed to be fake. A performance. But the way he’s looking at me right now feels anything but pretend.
“How long?” I manage.
“Three months. Long enough to be serious, not long enough for anyone to wonder why they haven’t met you yet.”
Smart. Practical. Except nothing about this feels practical when he shifts in his seat and his knee brushes against mine, sending sparks up my leg that have nothing to do with static electricity.
The flight passes in a blur of surprisingly easy conversation and increasingly dangerous proximity. Every time he laughsat something I say, every time his fingers brush mine when he passes me something, I feel my carefully constructed walls developing hairline cracks.
“Tell me about your family,” I say, needing the distraction.
“My sister Maddie’s the firecracker. Pregnant with her first, so she’s got zero filter right now. She’ll probably ask if we’re planning kids within the first hour.”
“Subtle.”
“Maddie doesn’t do subtle. She also makes these chocolate chip cookies that are basically crack. Fair warning.” He grins, and the expression transforms his whole face. “My brother Evan’s the responsible one. Two kids, steady job, thinks I’m an overgrown child who hits things with sticks for a living.”
“Are you?”
“Absolutely.” His laugh is warm, genuine. “But don’t tell him I admitted it.”
When the flight attendant comes by with drinks, Mitch glances at me. “Coffee?”
I nod, and he orders for both of us. As he hands me mine, his fingers wrap around mine for just a moment longer than necessary. The touch sends heat racing up my arm, and from the way his eyes darken slightly, he felt it too.
“What about your parents?” I ask, trying to ignore the way my pulse has kicked up.
“Dad coached hockey at the high school for thirty years. Still thinks I should have been a defenseman.” He reaches across me to adjust the air vent, and suddenly he’s close enough that I cansmell his cologne, can see the flecks of blue in his gray eyes. “Mom’s going to feed you until you can’t move, then ask why you’re so skinny.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Sounds terrifying.”
“She’s going to love you,” he says softly, and something in his voice pulls at my chest. “They all will.”
The way he looks at me when he says it—like he’s not just talking about his family—makes my carefully constructed walls start to crumble. This is supposed to be pretend, but the warmth in his eyes feels devastatingly real.
When turbulence hits and I grip the armrest, his hand covers mine without hesitation. Strong, steady, anchor-sure.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, but I don’t pull my hand away.
Neither does he.
By the time we land in Minneapolis, I’m in serious trouble.
The rental car is warm and smells like new leather and Mitch’s cologne. He punches his parents’ address into the console while I try to pretend my hands aren’t shaking.
“It’s about an hour to Maple Grove,” he says, pulling out of the parking garage into the gray December afternoon.
Snow falls steadily, turning the world into something soft and magical. I’ve lived in Texas so long I’d forgotten how beautiful winter can be when it’s not just cold and miserable.
“Anything else I should know about your family?” I ask as we merge onto the highway.
“Just that they’re loud. Meddling. And they’re going to love you, which is either great or terrible depending on how you look at it.”