22. Blake
Chapter 22
Blake
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear—a nervous habit I'd never managed to break. Xander's reflection appeared behind me, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
His eyes met mine in the mirror.
"We need to practice at being better," he said.
I turned to face him.
"Practice what?"
"Being a couple. In public." He rubbed the back of his neck—his own tell when he was uncomfortable.
"The town's small. Everyone knows everyone's business. If we're going to convince Susan from DCFS that we're engaged, we need to be convincing to everyone else too. Yesterday at the bookshop was… not entirely convincing, I don’t think."
It had been a disaster that I was trying not to think about and from the slightly too tired look on Xander’s face I had a feeling he’d spent half the night worrying about it too.
My stomach fluttered and I tried to decide if that was a good thing or not.
"Right. Of course."
In the living room, Amelia cooed from her playmat, oblivious to the adults' awkward dance happening ten feet away.
"We should establish some ground rules," Xander said, moving past me to wash his hands. "Keep things... professional."
I snorted. "Professional fake fiancés. Is there a certification for that?"
This was moving in a weird direction. Although I had to admit over-thinking Xander was strangely amusing.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Rule number one: public displays of affection are necessary but minimal."
"Meaning?"
"Hand-holding. The occasional arm around your shoulder or waist." He dried his hands on a towel, precise movements, like everything he did. "Nothing that would make either of us uncomfortable."
I nodded, trying to ignore how my skin warmed at the thought of his arm around my waist. "What else?"
"Rule number two: we refer to each other as fiancé or fiancée when in public. Or..." he hesitated, "...appropriate terms of endearment."
"Like what?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Sweetie pie? Honey bunch? Doctor Dreamboat?"
He gave me a look that was half-exasperation, half-amusement. "Something believable, Blake."
"Fine. I'll workshop it." I leaned against the counter. "Rule number three: we check in with each other if one of us gets uncomfortable."
"Agreed." Xander nodded. "And rule number four: this arrangement is about Amelia. Nothing more."
Our eyes met, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between us. I looked away first.
"Nothing more," I agreed.
"That’s set then. I’ll get Amelia ready for the day.” And he disappeared out of the bathroom leaving me to finish getting ready in bewilderment.
What just happened?
I’d barely walked into the kitchen when I saw Xander nervously pacing. He turned as I approached a bright smile on his face.
“Ready for our next public appearance as the happy couple?" Xander asked, Amelia balanced on his hip. He'd dressed her in a little yellow sundress Delaney had given us, with a matching headband that made her look like a tiny sunflower.
“Erm, I guess. Where exactly are we going?”
“To the farmer’s market. A Willowbrook Saturday tradition and the perfect place to debut our engagement after the awkward bookshop display. Maybe we should practice first," Xander suggested, his voice suddenly uncertain.
"Practice what?"
"The... couple things." He gestured vaguely between us. "The hand-holding and... stuff."
"Oh. You know you’ve held my hand before right?" The room felt ten degrees warmer.
“I know, it’s just… this is just how my brain works.”
We stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, Amelia babbling between us. Then Xander shifted her to his other hip and extended his free hand to me.
"Let's start with this," he said.
I slipped my hand into his. His palm was warm and dry, his fingers immediately curling around mine with gentle pressure. Something electric shot up my arm at the contact the same as the night we’d stood in front of Delaney’s waiting to tell everyone the truth. I'd expected it to feel strange this time, especially after the other night. Instead, it still felt... right. Like our hands had been designed to fit together.
Xander cleared his throat. "That's... good. Natural."
"Natural," I echoed, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.
"What about..." He took a step closer, and slowly slid his arm around my waist. The gesture pulled me against his side, my shoulder brushing his chest. I could smell his soap, something clean and vaguely pine-scented.
My breath caught. "That works too."
His eyes dropped to my mouth for the briefest moment before meeting my gaze again. "Good."
"Good," I repeated.
We stood there, my hand on his chest, his arm around my waist, Amelia between us, until she squealed and broke the spell. Xander stepped back, clearing his throat again.
"Right," he said. "I think we're ready."
He took three steps toward the door and then turned back with a look of confusion when he realised I wasn’t following.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly. “You seem a bit… I’m trying to think of a polite way to say it.”
He sighed, looking like he almost deflated as he did. “I guess I just spent a couple of hours this morning getting in my head. Worrying that if we weren’t convincing enough at the DCFS meeting that it would be my fault that Amelia… I don’t want to get this wrong.”
This sweet, perfect man.
“Will this make you feel better.”
He nodded looking embarrassed as he did.
“Then let’s do this thing.”
I grabbed the diaper bag from the side that had quickly become my purse as well reached out to graze my fingers over Amelia’s hand. If this was what Xander needed to feel more comfortable with what was to come then it was the least I could do. Besides, he wasn’t entirely wrong that we needed to put on a convincing performance when we saw Susan next. Everything rode on that next meeting and even though I’d been trying to ignore it, the pressure was high.
#
The Willowbrook Farmer's Market sprawled across the town square, white tents sprouting like mushrooms after rain. The spring air smelled of fresh bread and flowers, with undercurrents of coffee from Daniel's mobile Books and Beans stand. Children chased each other between stalls while locals caught up on the week's gossip.
"Deep breath," Xander murmured, his hand finding the small of my back. "Just be natural."
"Says the guy who practiced holding my hand this morning," I whispered back, but I leaned into his touch instinctively.
We made it exactly three steps into the market before Carol Prescott spotted us. The Wednesday Lunch Club matriarch's eyes lit up like Christmas morning as she bustled over, her floral dress flapping around her ankles.
"Well, look who it is!" she exclaimed. "The happy little family! And this must be Amelia—oh, she's precious. May I?"
Before either of us could respond, Carol had plucked Amelia from Xander's arms. Surprisingly, Amelia didn't protest, just stared up at Carol with curious eyes.
"She has your eyes, Blake," Carol declared, though that was biologically impossible. "But I see Xander in her smile."
Xander and I exchanged a quick glance. I wasn't sure if I should correct her about Amelia's parentage, but Xander subtly shook his head.
"We think she's perfect," he said, sliding his arm around my waist again. The movement felt more natural this time, less practiced.
"And when's the big day?" Carol asked, bouncing Amelia gently.
"We haven't set a date yet," I replied. "With Amelia and all... we're just taking things one day at a time."
Carol nodded knowingly. "No rush, no rush. Marriage is forever, after all. And you two have already skipped straight to the family part!"
I felt Xander stiffen beside me, though his smile remained fixed. "We're just doing what works for us," he said smoothly.
"Well, it's working beautifully," Carol declared, finally returning Amelia to Xander's arms. "I'll let you enjoy the market. Oh, and Blake—don't forget lunch on Wednesday!"
As Carol bustled away, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"That wasn't so bad," Xander said, adjusting Amelia on his hip.
"Which part?" I asked, watching Carol disappear into the crowd.
His eyes met mine, something unreadable in their depths. Before he could answer, Ethan approached, his Sheriff’s uniform crisp despite the casual setting.
"Morning, folks," he greeted, tipping his hat. His eyes lingered on me a moment too long, and I felt Xander's arm tighten around my waist.
"Morning, Sheriff," Xander replied, his voice carrying a hint of territorial edge that surprised me.
"Heard congratulations are in order," Ethan said, his gaze shifting between us. "Engagement and a baby all at once. Moving fast, aren't you, Doc?"
There was a slight bitterness in his voice that made me feel guilty for lying this way to Ethan when he’d only ever been nice to me in the past.
I felt rather than saw Xander's jaw tighten. "When you know, you know," he said, his tone light but with steel underneath.
Ethan nodded slowly. "Well, lucky man." He turned to me. "Blake, if you ever need anything… If there’s anything I can do to help with the DCFS situation…"
"She knows where to find me," Xander interrupted smoothly. "Her fiancé."
A beat of tense silence passed before Ethan chuckled. "Course she does. You folks enjoy the market."
As he walked away, I turned to Xander with raised eyebrows. "What was that about?"
"Just playing my part," he muttered, not meeting my eyes.
"Mmm-hmm. Very convincing, honey bunch."
That earned me a reluctant smile. "I told you not to call me that."
"You told me to be convincing," I countered, feeling strangely triumphant at having broken his momentary tension.
We continued through the market, stopping at various stalls. Xander bought fresh vegetables while I picked out bread from the local bakery. All the while, his hand remained at the small of my back, or our fingers entwined as we walked side by side. It was startling how quickly it began to feel natural—like we'd been doing this for years instead of hours.
At the center of the square, the town had set up a small garden plot program—"Adopt-a-Plot," they called it. Families could claim a section to plant vegetables or flowers for the season.
"The Farrington Family," read a small wooden sign on one of the plots. I looked at Xander questioningly.
"I may have signed us up," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Thought it might look good for the DCFS evaluation. Stable family, community involvement..."
"Right," I said, staring at the sign. Our name. Together. "Makes sense. When exactly did you have time to do this?"
He didn’t have time to respond before an elderly couple approached, introducing themselves as the Hendersons. They'd been running the garden program for decades.
"First time gardeners?" Mrs. Henderson asked kindly.
"I had a small herb garden in college," I offered. "But nothing serious."
"I killed a cactus once," Xander added, making the couple laugh.
"Well, every family has to start somewhere," Mr. Henderson said, handing us a packet of seeds. "Tomatoes are fairly forgiving. Just need water, sunshine, and a little love."
"Like most things worth growing," Mrs. Henderson added with a meaningful glance at Amelia.
We thanked them and moved on, both of us quiet as we contemplated the seed packet and what it represented—another thread binding us together in this tapestry of pretense we were weaving.
Near Daniel's coffee stand, we ran into Dex and Booker. Dex immediately reached for Amelia, who went to him happily.
"My favorite niece!" he declared, swinging her gently in the air.
"You're an honorary uncle at best," Booker pointed out, then turned to us with knowing eyes. "You two look cozy."
I felt myself blush, acutely aware of Xander's arm still around my waist.
"Just getting into the role," Xander said, too casually.
Booker's eyebrows rose. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
"Leave them alone," Dex chided, bouncing Amelia in his arms. "They're figuring it out."
"Figuring what out?" I asked, too quickly.
Dex just grinned, turning his attention back to Amelia. Booker smiled enigmatically and changed the subject to the rehabilitation center's progress.
As they talked, I found myself watching Xander—the animated way he described his plans, the genuine excitement in his eyes when he talked about helping people. It struck me that this was the most alive I'd seen him, discussing something he truly cared about.
We finished our shopping and said goodbye to Booker and Dex, who promised to stop by later in the week. As we walked toward the car, our hands automatically found each other again.
"I think we were pretty convincing," Xander said, sounding pleased.
"Mmm," I agreed. "The town seems to be buying it."
"Carol certainly did. And half the town seemed to be watching from Mabel's jam stand."
We reached the car, and Xander began loading our purchases while I secured Amelia in her car seat. When I turned back, he was watching me with an unreadable expression.
"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"We make a good team," he said quietly.
The words hung between us, weighted with unspoken meaning. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
As I rounded the car to the passenger side, Xander reached out without thinking and took my hand. We both froze, suddenly aware that there was no one around to perform for.
"Force of habit," he said quickly, letting go.
"Right," I agreed, ignoring the strange sense of loss I felt when his fingers slipped from mine. "Just... practicing."
Back at the cottage, we moved around each other in the kitchen, putting away our market finds. The easy rhythm we'd fallen into at the market had followed us home, and we worked in companionable silence, passing items back and forth, anticipating each other's needs without speaking.
As I handed Xander the last bag of vegetables for the refrigerator, our fingers brushed. A small, innocuous touch—the kind that had happened countless times throughout the day. But this time, neither of us pulled away immediately. His eyes met mine, and for a moment, the pretense fell away, leaving something raw and honest in its place.
Amelia broke the spell, babbling from her bouncy chair. We both stepped back, the moment evaporating like morning dew under the sun.
"I'll get her a bottle," Xander said, already turning away.
"I'll start dinner," I replied, equally eager for the distraction.
That night, after Amelia was asleep, I sat on the porch swing, relaxing in the twilight. Xander came out with two mugs of tea, offering one to me before sitting at the opposite end of the swing.
"Successful first public appearance," he said, blowing on his tea.
"Very," I agreed. "Though I noticed you broke rule number four."
He looked confused. "Which was?"
"This arrangement is about Amelia. Nothing more." I set my mug aside, not wanting to break the news that I detested the contents. "That whole thing with Ethan felt a little more... territorial than necessary."
Xander had the grace to look embarrassed. "I might have gotten carried away."
"You think?"
He shrugged, staring into his mug. "He was looking at you like... anyway, it won't happen again."
"I don't mind," I said softly, surprising myself with the admission. "It made it more convincing."
His eyes met mine across the swing. "We should add another rule."
"What's that?"
"Rule number five: remember what's real and what isn't."
I swallowed, nodding slowly. "That's probably smart."
We sat in silence, the porch swing creaking gently beneath us. In the distance, an owl called, answered by another. The night air carried the scent of early summer, sweet and promising.
"Blake?" Xander's voice was quiet in the darkness.
"Hmm?"
"Today, when I reached for your hand in the parking lot..." He paused. "I forgot we weren't being watched."
My heart stuttered in my chest. "It's fine. We were just practicing."
"Right," he agreed. "Practicing."
But as we sat there, separated by barely two feet of weathered wood, I couldn't help wondering which was the real performance—the hand-holding and affectionate touches in public, or this careful distance we maintained when alone. And I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to know the answer.