8. Mary
Eight
Mary
“Hi.”
Fantastic.
One word.
Excellent conversational skills, Mary.
His grin widens.
“That's it?”
“What?”
“Just hi?”
I clear my throat.
“Hi is a commonly accepted and customary greeting. What were you expecting—a parade?”
“Not a parade, but come on, I put this on for you,” he says, and looks down at himself, shrugging one shoulder.
I fight my grin.
Is he fishing for compliments?
“Well, um, Kai, you clean up nice.”
Why would I say that?
Why?
But when I look at him, preparing for disdain, I’m shocked to see Kai looks ridiculously pleased.
“Thanks. You like it?”
“You look very, um, presentable.”
His eyebrows lift.
“Presentable?”
“Don't push it.”
He laughs.
Actually laughs.
And suddenly I remember every coffee date this past week.
How every morning he'd somehow appear at school.
Coffee in hand.
Smile already waiting.
At first, I'd been annoyed.
Then suspicious.
Then resigned.
Now?
Now I kind of wonder how much I’ll miss him when he doesn't show up.
Which feels dangerous.
Very dangerous.
His gaze slowly moves over me.
Not in a creepy way.
Not like Joel Jonas.
Nothing like that.
More like he's appreciating something—me.
The look makes my cheeks warm.
“You look beautiful, Firecracker.”
My breath catches.
Just for a second.
Then I immediately recover.
Mostly.
“Don’t call me that. And do you have to lay it on so thick already?”
“First, you like it when I call you that,” he begins.
Then, his smile softens.
“Second, I’m just telling the truth. Green is definitely your color. Makes your eyes sparkle.”
Oh.
He means it.
And that's somehow worse than if he were just playing a part.
Much worse.
Before I can think of a response, Sister Agnes appears.
Thank God.
“Mr. Montego!”
Kai straightens.
“Sister.”
The older nun beams.
“I hear you're our caller tonight.”
Kai points at me.
“Her idea.”
“It was not.”
“It absolutely was.”
“You volunteered,” I practically bark.
“Because you needed help, Pumpkin.”
Pumpkin? Oh, hell no.
I frown.
“I didn’t know I needed help until after you volunteered, Sweetie Pie.”
He frowns for a full three seconds at the “Sweetie Pie” bit, then his grin returns.
“Technicality.”
Sister Agnes watches the exchange.
Then smiles.
Uh-oh.
I know that smile.
That's the smile of a woman who thinks she's witnessing something adorable.
I don't like it.
Not one bit.
“Wonderful,” she says. “And just so you know, everyone is already talking about you both. Keep it up!”
Kai looks delighted.
I groan.
“See?” he says. “Publicity.”
“This is not publicity.”
“It absolutely is.”
And he’s right.
People are already staring.
Actually staring.
Mrs. Russo from the parish office waves enthusiastically.
Then immediately whispers something to her friend.
Both women look at us.
Then smile.
Oh, dear Lord.
It's started.
Kai notices, too.
The smug jerk.
“Look at that.”
“Stop it.”
“The plan is working.”
“We've been in the same room for thirty seconds.”
“Exactly.”
I glare.
He grins.
And somehow I know tonight is going to be a complete disaster.
The worst part?
As Kai follows me toward the stage and casually places his hand at the small of my back—I feel warm.
Protected.
Cherished.
It’s the kind of touch that's impossible to misinterpret—and I realize something terrifying.
For the first time all week, I don't entirely hate this plan.
And if I’m not careful, I might end up convincing myself this little charade is real.