Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
SAVANNAH
"You want to marry who?"
My best friend Sylvie stares at me across the coffee shop counter, her expression stuck somewhere between horror and fascination. I glance around nervously, but the morning rush at The Grind has dwindled to a couple of regulars typing on laptops in the corner.
"Keep your voice down," I hiss, wiping nonexistent spills from the counter. "I don't need the whole town knowing my business before he even gives me an answer."
"Oh honey, this is Whisper Vale." Sylvie leans closer, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. "The whole town probably knew you visited his workshop before you even made it back to your car."
She's not wrong. News travels at light speed in a town this size. Especially when it involves the sheriff's daughter and the local bad boy.
"Well, they don't know why I was there." I check my phone for the fifteenth time this morning. Still no text from Colt. "And I'd like to keep it that way until things are settled."
"If by 'things' you mean a legally binding marriage to a man you barely know, then yes, let's keep that quiet." Sylvie rolls her eyes. "What happened to Brett anyway? Last I heard, you two were picking out matching sweaters or whatever boring couples do."
"We broke up." I start restocking napkins just to keep my hands busy. "He called my culinary dreams impractical. Said I should focus on a real career."
"Ouch." Sylvie winces. "Though to be fair, marrying an ex-con to inherit a house isn't exactly practical either."
"It's a business arrangement," I insist, though the memory of Colt's intense gaze makes my stomach flutter in ways that feel distinctly unbusinesslike. "Six months married, then divorce. I get Grandma's house, he gets respectability."
"And what if he expects more than just respectability?" Sylvie wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Have you seen the man? Those arms alone could make a girl forget her own name."
Heat rushes to my face. I have noticed his arms. And his shoulders. And the way his t-shirt stretched across his broad chest yesterday. Even the way his large hands dwarfed mine when we shook on our pending agreement.
"Separate living arrangements," I mumble, trying to banish the mental image of those hands on my body. "It's all in the contract."
"A contract." Sylvie laughs. "How romantic."
"It's not supposed to be romantic," I argue, though my racing pulse whenever I think about him suggests my body hasn't gotten that memo. "It's practical. Mutually beneficial."
"Right. And the fact he looks like he stepped off the cover of Bad Boys Monthly has nothing to do with it."
The bell over the door chimes before I can respond, saving me from having to lie about my attraction to Colt. My relief lasts approximately two seconds before I realize who just walked in.
Colton Reeves fills the doorway of The Grind like he was built to a different scale than ordinary men.
Faded jeans hug powerful thighs. A black henley with the sleeves pushed up showcases those arms Sylvie just mentioned.
His dark hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the nape of his neck.
My mouth goes dry.
"Speak of the devil," Sylvie murmurs before plastering on her customer service smile. "Welcome to The Grind! What can I get you?"
Colt's eyes find mine immediately, ignoring Sylvie completely. "Got a minute to talk?"
"I'm working," I manage, though my voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
"I can cover," Sylvie offers too quickly. "Take your break now."
I could strangle her for the obvious matchmaking, but part of me is grateful. Waiting until after my shift to hear his decision would be torture.
"Fine." I untie my apron and hang it on the hook. "Let me grab my phone."
Colt waits silently, his presence drawing curious glances from the few customers at tables. I lead him toward the small patio area out back, away from prying eyes. The space is empty this morning, metal tables still damp from an early mist that burned off hours ago.
"Coffee?" I ask stupidly, then wince. "I mean, I work at a coffee shop and didn't even offer you anything."
"I'm good." He remains standing, towering over me. "About your proposal."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "You've made a decision."
"I have questions first." His voice is deep, serious. "What does your father think about this plan?"
"He still doesn't know yet." I lift my chin. "And frankly, his opinion isn't relevant."
Something flickers across Colt's face. Amusement, maybe. "The man carries a gun and hates my guts. I'd say his opinion is pretty relevant."
"He'll adjust." I hope I sound more confident than I feel. "Once he sees this is happening with or without his blessing."
Colt studies me for a long moment. "You really aren't afraid of him, are you?"
"I'm afraid of a lot of things." Failing. Debt. Never achieving my dreams. "But not my father."
He nods, seeming to come to a decision. "What exactly do you expect from me in this marriage?"
The question catches me off guard. "I told you. Public appearances. Looking like a legitimate couple. Nothing complicated."
"And physical expectations?" His gray eyes bore into mine. "What happens in private?"
My face burns so hot I'm surprised my skin doesn't melt off. "The contract specifies separate living arrangements," I remind him, my voice higher than normal. "We don't have to... I mean, we wouldn't..."
"Have sex." He finishes bluntly when I can't. "That's what I'm asking, Savannah. Is sex part of this arrangement or not?"
The way he says my name does things to my insides that run all the way between my legs. "It doesn't have to be," I manage. "Unless you want... I mean, I'm not opposed if you..."
God, I'm making a mess of this. In my head, this conversation was clinical. Professional. Not standing inches from a man who smells like forge fire and soap while discussing whether we'll be sleeping together.
"I need clarity." His voice drops lower. "Because I won't agree to this unless we're both very clear on what we're getting into."
"No sex," I blurt out, then immediately want to sink through the floor. "Not required. Strictly business. The arrangement stands regardless."
He's silent for so long I start to wonder if I've offended him somehow. Then I notice the slight curve of his lips. He's amused.
"Did you just formally exempt me from husband duties in the middle of a coffee shop patio?"
Put that way, it sounds ridiculous. A startled laugh escapes me. "I guess I did. How unromantic of me."
"Practical," he corrects, and his expression softens slightly. "I like practical."
Hope blooms in my chest. "Does that mean you're agreeing?"
"It means I have one more condition." He steps closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. "We do this, we do it right. Convincing. No one can suspect it's anything but genuine."
"Of course," I agree quickly. "That's the whole point."
"That means touching." His voice drops even lower. "Holding hands. Arms around each other. Looking at each other like we can't get enough. Kissing. Living together, even if I sleep on the couch. Think you can handle that, Savannah?"
Living together? My heart stutters in my chest. That wasn't part of my plan. Sharing space with him day and night, watching him move around a kitchen in the morning, hearing him shower, maybe catching glimpses of him less than fully dressed. The idea sends heat flooding through me.
The way he says my name should be illegal. So should the images flashing through my mind at his words. His arms around me. His hands on my body. His eyes looking at me with desire instead of careful assessment.
"I can handle it," I whisper, though I'm not entirely sure that's true.
He nods once. "Then I'm in."
The simple acceptance sends relief washing through me so strongly that my knees go weak. "Really? You'll do it?"
"One last thing." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. "We make it look real. Starting now."
My breath catches as he flips open the box. Inside sits a ring unlike anything I've ever seen. The band is intricate metalwork, delicate swirls of silver and gold woven together to hold a small but perfect sapphire.
"You made this," I breathe, recognizing his artistry immediately.
He nods. "Last night." He takes the ring from the box. "If we're doing this, we're committing to the story. That means a proper proposal. A ring you'd actually wear if this were real."
Before I can process what's happening, he drops to one knee right there on the coffee shop patio. I'm vaguely aware of Sylvie's face pressed against the window, her mouth a perfect O of shock.
"Savannah Parker," Colt says, his voice carrying just enough for anyone nearby to hear. "Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
This wasn't part of our discussion. This public declaration, this gesture that makes it all suddenly, terrifyingly real. But his eyes hold mine, steady and certain, and I remember our agreement. Make it convincing. Make it genuine.
So I smile like a woman in love, let tears spring to my eyes, and gasp just loud enough to be believable.
"Yes," I whisper, offering my trembling hand. "Yes, Colt. I'll marry you."
He slides the ring onto my finger, a perfect fit somehow. When he stands, he pulls me into his arms, and I go willingly. His body is solid against mine, warm and strong and unexpectedly right.
"Showtime," he murmurs against my hair, for my ears only.
Then his mouth is on mine, one large hand cradling my face, the other at the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. The kiss is nothing like the chaste, public display I expected. It's deep, possessive, his tongue sweeping into my mouth with confident skill that makes my knees buckle.
I respond instinctively, fingers clutching his shirt, pressing closer as heat explodes through my body. He kisses like a man staking a claim, not like someone putting on a show.
When he finally pulls back, I'm breathless, dizzy with want and confusion. His eyes have darkened to storm clouds, his breathing uneven.
This is an act, I remind myself frantically. A performance for onlookers. A business arrangement.
But as Sylvie pushes through the door with a squeal of excitement, I touch my tingling lips and wonder if I've just made the biggest mistake of my life. Or the best decision I've ever made.