CHAPTER 12

~ SIMON

Jamie pulled me through the kitchen with a strength I didn't expect from someone her size. The door swung shut behind us, and she spun on me, eyes blazing.

"You're an idiot."

"Heard that before."

"You made up a story about us in the shower!" She gestured frantically. "My grandmother! My aunts! They're going to think I'm some kind of..."

"A healthy woman who sleeps with her boyfriend?" I shrugged. "What a scandal."

"Simon!"

"What?" I leaned against the counter. "You'd rather I tell them the truth? That I broke a guy's face in high school and spent a night in juvie?"

She blinked. "You're serious?"

"It was twenty years ago. Guy was talking shit about my dad. I told him to stop. He didn't, so I broke his nose, his jaw, and three teeth."

"Three teeth?"

"It was a good night."

Her anger shifted into something more complicated.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I don't want your grandmother thinking I'm a delinquent. Or some aggressive asshole." I shrugged. "I'd rather she think I had shower sex with you. It's a better story."

She rubbed her face. "I'm going to kill you, Simon Hart."

"No, you're not." I stepped toward her. "Because you're having fun."

"I am not."

"You smiled when your aunt asked if I had life insurance."

"I didn't smile."

"You did. It was a little psycho, but it was a smile."

A laugh escaped before she could stop it, and I knew I'd won. She tried to cover it by turning away, but I had already seen it.

"See?" I pointed at her. "You laughed."

"That was an involuntary spasm. It means nothing at all."

"It means you're having fun, Counselor. Even against your will."

She shook her head, though a smile still tugged at her mouth. She leaned against the counter beside me, and for a moment we listened to the old refrigerator hum beneath the muffled laughter from the dining room.

"Simon," she said softly.

"Hm?"

"I'm starting to regret agreeing to this arrangement."

I turned to her, frowning. "Why?"

"Because eventually I'll have to tell them we ended things." She stared at the wall. "I'll have to face all of them again. My grandmother, who's dying and already attached to you. My aunts, who are planning our wedding. My mother, who's probably choosing what she'll wear." She gave a bitter laugh. "They'll look at me with that same pity, except this time it'll be worse. They'll start thinking maybe I'm the problem."

For a moment, I said nothing. I hated how quickly the thought wiped the smile from her face.

"Jamie." My voice came out softer than I'd intended. "Look at me."

She hesitated, then did.

"You don't have to tell them anything. We can say we're taking a break, that I traveled for work, or that we decided to keep things private." I stepped closer. "You don't owe anyone an explanation. Not your grandmother, your aunts, or your mother. You only have to decide what's best for you."

"You're saying we can just... not tell them?"

"Why not? The only people who need to know the truth are the two of us." I held her gaze. "You think too much about everything that could go wrong, what happens tomorrow, what people will think. Maybe, just this once, you should stop predicting disaster and live one day at a time."

She studied me like she was searching for a hidden lie. The suspicion in her eyes almost made me laugh, but the fear beneath it didn't.

"You're being weirdly deep today," she said.

"I'm always deep."

"You're never deep. I never know if you're going to say something stupid or something that actually makes me think."

"That's why you like me."

"I don't like you."

"Sure you do." I leaned beside her, our shoulders almost touching. "You just don't want to admit it."

She opened her mouth to answer, but the kitchen door swung open. Her great-aunt Margareth poked her head in, clearly pleased to find us alone.

"There you are! The storm's getting worse. Everyone who lives nearby is leaving before the roads get bad."

Jamie and I exchanged a look.

"Let's get back to the living room," I said, sliding my hand to the small of her back. The gesture was already becoming automatic.

When we returned, only Jamie's parents and grandmother remained. Outside, the storm raged like a caged animal. Rain hammered the windows, and thunder rolled hard enough to make glass tremble.

"My God, look at this rain," my temporary mother-in-law said, peering through the window. "There's no way you two can drive back tonight. The roads must be a mess."

"We'll get the guest room ready," Jamie's father said, rising.

"It only has one bed," her grandmother added with a knowing smile. "But you're a couple. Just don't break anything."

Jamie turned red instantly. I laughed, and she elbowed me in the ribs.

"We'll survive, Grandma," I assured her. "Thanks for having us."

When the bedroom door clicked shut behind us, we found a small, cozy room containing exactly one bed.

A small double bed. Barely enough room for two adults determined to avoid touching.

"I don't remember it being this small," Jamie murmured.

She stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the narrow mattress like it was a torture device. Her shoulders were tight, hands glued to her sides, and I could practically see the gears turning in her head.

Me? I was having the time of my life.

"Well, well, well." I flopped onto the bed with a theatrical sigh, hands behind my head. "Who would've thought I'd one day share a bed with my employee of the year?"

She didn't move, so I kept going.

"What's your preference? Spooning, facing each other, or the..."

I paused dramatically.

"69 position?"

Her glare could've frozen the Atlantic.

"Keep talking and I'll make you sleep on the floor."

I crossed my arms, barely holding back a smile. Irritated Counselor Collins might be my favorite version of her.