Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 45996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45996 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Jace drives with such a confidence I find alluring. He points out landmarks as we go. “That little white building on the corner? Best coffee in town. The dock over there is where the charter boats leave every morning. And that pink cottage with the blue shutters? Rumor says it belongs to a retired pirate. Or maybe a guy who really likes rum.”
I glance at him sideways. “Do you ever stop talking?”
“Only when I’m eating or kissing,” he replies without missing a beat. “Both activities I highly recommend.”
I fight a smile and stare out at the passing storefronts. The town feels small and bright, with colorful awnings and people already strolling the sidewalks in flip-flops and sun hats. My stomach twists with nerves. Pretending in public means touching. Smiling. Selling a story I never asked to star in.
Jace parks near the entrance of the grocery store and kills the engine. The second my feet hit the pavement, he reaches for my hand. His palm feels warm and steady, fingers strong as they close around mine. I almost pull back on instinct. My heart kicks hard against my ribs. This is too much, too fast. But then an older couple walking past glances our way with knowing smiles, and I remember the plan. I lace my fingers through his and plaster on what I hope looks like an adoring smile.
Inside, the store buzzes with a mix of tourists and locals. Carts rattle down narrow aisles. A radio plays soft country music overhead. The air smells like fresh bread from the bakery section and ripe fruit from the produce displays. Jace steers us toward the produce section with easy confidence, still holding my hand. He stops in front of the mangoes and picks up a bright orange one, holding it up like a trophy.
“Perfect for our romantic beach picnic,” he says, loud enough for a woman browsing nearby to hear. “Or I could feed you slices while we watch the sunset from the hammock. Very couple-y. Very swoony.”
I snatch the mango from his hand and drop it into the cart with a little more force than necessary. “You would probably drop it in the sand and call it extra flavor. Then I’d have to clean up after you like always.”
He clutches his chest in mock offense, eyes sparkling. “Ouch. Direct hit to the heart. I make excellent picnic choices. Ask anyone who’s ever shared a blanket with me.”
“Anyone except the woman stuck pretending to date you,” I shoot back. I add a bag of fresh spinach to the cart and bump his hip with mine to move him out of the way of the avocados. He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that turns a few heads in our direction. I catch myself smiling before I can stop it and quickly look away.
We move through the aisles trading jabs like it’s second nature. In the cereal aisle he tries to sneak a box of sugary kids cereal with cartoon characters on the front into the cart. I replace it with a plain canister of oatmeal and raise one eyebrow.
“Really?” he says. “You’re choosing cardboard over joy?”
“I’m choosing something that won’t rot your teeth before we even solve this mess,” I reply. “Besides, I like oatmeal. It’s reliable. Predictable.”
He counters by adding two pints of chocolate chunk ice cream to the cart. “A girl needs some comforts when her life turns into a bodyguard romcom. I’m thoughtful like that.”
I let them stay. The truth is I do need something sweet after everything that has happened. We continue down the aisle. A middle-aged woman pushing a cart loaded with wine and cheese stops to watch us. She smiles warmly.
“You two are darling,” she says. “Reminds me of my husband and me when we first started dating. All that spark.”
Jace wraps his arm around my waist without warning and pulls me gently against his side. “She keeps me on my toes. Best decision I ever made, bringing her here.”
I tense for a split second, then relax into the role and rest my hand on his chest. The muscle there feels solid under my palm. “He’s impossible,” I say with a light laugh that sounds almost natural. “But I suppose I am stuck with him now.”
The woman chuckles and moves on. The second she turns the corner, I step away from Jace’s side. He doesn’t comment, but his eyes linger on me a moment longer than necessary.
Near the deli counter, a man in a fishing hat glances our way twice. Jace notices. He reaches for my hand again, fingers brushing mine. This time I pull back on instinct, my nerves flaring. The store suddenly feels too small, too watched.
Jace’s expression shifts. The easy charm drops away. He gives me a stern stare, eyes serious and commanding. It’s the look of a man who has run operations and expects orders to be followed. He doesn’t say anything out loud, but the message is clear. Play the part. We’re being noticed. I swallow hard and reach for his hand this time, threading our fingers together. His grip tightens, warm and sure, and some of the tension eases from his shoulders.