Chapter Two #2
But was I? There were gonna be ramifications of that move I'd just made, right across from the town's favorite café on Main Street. There was no chance that hadn't been seen by at least a few people. Which meant…
I hadn't much cared what people thought about me, other than I was good at my job. Why start caring now?
The almost-smile flickered. “So what do we do now?”
I looked at him, flushed and shaky and still holding the flowers I'd made for him against his chest. The card was back in my hand, you're more than enough in my own handwriting, and I thought about Landon's face when he'd read it. The way the smugness had cracked.
Whatever else happened, seeing that made it all worth it.
“Coffee,” I said. “We should talk.”
Jamie
The Copper Kettle was warm and smelled like coffee and cinnamon, and Holden Hutchinson had kissed me approximately ten minutes ago.
I was still trying to process it. The way he'd walked up like a fucking boss in dark flannel and put his arm around me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The way he'd bent down, so far down, the height difference almost comical, and pressed his mouth to mine.
The way it had started soft, almost tentative, and then I'd grabbed him and pulled him closer and everything had shifted into something hungrier.
I could still feel the ghost of his fingers at the back of my neck. Still feel the solid warmth of his body against my side.
He'd done it to shut Landon up. I knew that. It was a performance, a rescue, a split-second good deed made by a decent man who'd overheard my ex calling me pathetic.
But knowing that didn't stop my heart from racing, and it didn't stop me from replaying the kiss on a loop in my head.
That kiss had been outstanding.
Holden went to the counter to order while I found a booth in the front near the window.
He moved slowly through the space, hunching his shoulders, making himself smaller, navigating around tables and chairs with the careful precision of someone who'd learned to take up less room than his body demanded while avoiding the stares that he was getting.
In the park, when he'd stepped between me and Landon, he hadn't hunched at all. He'd let himself be enormous.
He'd done that for me.
The flowers sat on the table in front of me. Ranunculus and eucalyptus, soft peach and cream with a deep red ribbon. I'd ordered them for myself as a small act of self-love, and Holden had turned them into something else entirely.
The card was still in my hand. You're more than enough. Remember that.
“Here.” Holden set a cup in front of me and folded himself into the opposite side of the booth. His knees hit the underside of the table, and he shifted, trying to find a position that fit.
I wrapped my hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into my fingers, before adding four of those little half and half containers and two sugars because fuck, it had been that kind of a morning.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The café noise filled the silence: Mags calling out an order, the hiss of the espresso machine, conversation from nearby tables.
“I owe you an explanation,” I said. “About Landon.”
“You don't owe me anything.”
“I want to tell you.” I took a breath. “We were together for two years in Denver. He wasn’t like that at first, not in the beginning.
He was charming, confident, made me feel like the center of the world.
” I stared at my coffee. “But then it shifted.
He wanted me a certain way. Quieter. Easier.
When I had needs, he'd shut down. Go cold. Make me feel like wanting anything from him was asking too much.”
Holden's brow furrowed, but he didn't interrupt.
“When we broke up, he moved back here. Prospect Ridge, where he grew up. His family owns the ski resort up the mountain.” He chuckled low.
“I guess you already knew that. Anyway, we'd agreed to share custody of Marceline and Bubblegum.” I shrugged, trying to make it smaller than it felt.
“So I followed him. For the dogs.” I shook my head and looked at my coffee mug.
“I know how dumb that sounds. Pathetic.”
“Don't say that.” Holden tapped his fingers on the table. “He said you were stalking him.”
“He says a lot of things.” The bitterness crept into my voice before I could stop it.
“Every Friday afternoon, I meet him to exchange the dogs.
And every Friday, he finds a new way to make me feel like nothing.
Like I'm a loser for being here, for not being over him, for just fucking existing in his space.” I set down my cup.
“But today, when you showed up, when you kissed me and gave me the flowers and he read that card, he didn't know what to do.” I laughed wryly. “That was great.”
Holden’s dark eyes were fixed on my face. “Glad I could help.”
“Me too.” And then it hit me. The idea arrived fully formed, like lightning cracking open my skull.
“Oh my god.” I sat up straighter, the words tumbling out before I could second-guess them. “What if we kept doing this?”
Holden's brow furrowed. “Kept doing what?”
“This. You and me. Together.” I spread my hands. “You already started it today, right? If we just... kept it going, for a little while, Landon would back off. He'd stop with the shitty comments, stop trying to make me feel small. He'd have to accept that I've moved on.”
“You want me to fake date you.”
“Yes.” My face was burning, but I made myself hold his gaze. “I know it's a lot. I know it's weird. But what you did today worked, and I just, I need him to think I'm okay. Even if I'm not.”
Holden was silent for a long moment. He picked up his coffee, took a drink, set it down again. Then he shook his head.
“Look, I'm running the shop alone right now,” he said. “My assistant retired in December, and I haven't found anyone to replace her. Valentine's Day is three weeks out. It's the busiest season of the year. I barely have time to sleep, let alone play boyfriend for someone I just met. I'm sorry.”
My heart sank. “I understand. It was stupid to—” I stopped. Looked at him. At the tension in his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes I hadn't noticed before. “Wait. You said you need help.”
“I said I don't have time.”
“But you need help.” The idea expanded, clicking into place like puzzle pieces. “What if I helped you? At the shop. In exchange for... this.”
Holden's brow furrowed. “You want to work at the flower shop.”
“I want to make a trade.” I leaned forward, warming to the idea.
“You help me, I help you. I don't know anything about flowers, but I can learn the basics.
I can handle customers while you're in the back doing arrangements.
Answer phones. Deal with emails. I'm a freelance designer. I make my own hours. I can be there mornings until lunch time.”
He was staring at me like I'd started speaking another language.
“In exchange,” I continued, “you pretend to be my boyfriend for a few weeks. We go out in public, let people see us together, and Landon has to accept I've moved on.”
“Define 'go out in public.'“
“Dinner once a week. Somewhere people will see us.”
“That's a lot of dinners.”
“It's three dinners. Four if you count Valentine's Day.”
Holden snorted. “We're not going out Valentine's Day, that's my busiest day of the year.”
“I'll help out that day too, if you haven't found a new assistant by then.”
Holden's eyes narrowed. “Does lunch count as a date?”
I tried to stifle the laugh at this bartering we were doing. “Lunch counts if we're seen. Holding hands, maybe. Looking like we're actually together.”
“Holding hands,” he repeated, like he was testing the words.
“Is that a problem?”
“No. Just... clarifying.” He shifted in his seat, and the flush crept up the back of his neck. “What else?
“At least one weekend night. Like an actual date. Dinner and something after. A walk, drinks, light PDA, whatever. Something that looks romantic.”
“PDA?”
My face went hot. “Public displays of affection. Like…” I nodded over at the park.
His lips curled into a half-smile. “You said holding hands. What else?” His voice was gruff, but he wasn't looking away. “If we're selling this, people are going to expect—”
“A few kisses,” I said, before I could lose my nerve. “Nothing excessive. Just enough to be convincing.”
“Like in the park.”
The memory hit me. His mouth on mine, my hand fisted in his collar, the way the kiss had got real… real fast.
“Maybe not exactly like the park,” I managed. “That was... a lot.”
We stared at each other. The café noise seemed to fade, and for a moment it was just us, the table between us, the flowers I was still clutching like a lifeline.
“So.” Holden cleared his throat. “Four days a week at the shop, plus Saturdays if I'm swamped. Three dinners, one weekend date, hand-holding in public, occasional...” He gestured vaguely.
“Kissing.”
“That.” His ears were definitely pink now. “Three weeks. Through Valentine's Day. Then we're done.”
“Then we're done,” I agreed. “You get your shop help during the busiest season, I get Landon off my back. Everybody wins.”
Silence. He was quiet for a long moment, turning something over.
“This is insane,” he said.
“Completely.”
“I don't do things like this.” Then he barked out a laugh, loud enough to get the attention of a few diner patrons. “Then again, I kissed you in the middle of Main Street.”
“That you did.”
He exhaled. Ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it slightly disheveled. “I can't believe I'm fucking agreeing to this.”
I laughed, surprised and a little giddy. “That's not a no.”
“No,” he said, and something in his expression shifted. Still guarded, but with a warmth flickering underneath. “It's not a no.”
I stuck out my hand before I could overthink it. “Deal?”
Holden looked at my hand for a moment, then took it. His palm was warm, callused from work. His fingers wrapped all the way around mine, and the grip was firm but careful, like he was conscious of his own strength.
Neither of us let go.
“We should probably—” I started.
“Yeah.” But he still didn't release my hand. Instead, he shifted his grip, lacing his fingers through mine. The gesture was tentative, almost a question.
“No time like the present,” I said. “For practice.”
“Practice.” His mouth quirked. “Right.”
Our hands rested on the table between us, fingers intertwined. Through the window, I could see people walking past on Main Street. Anyone glancing in would see us sitting together, holding hands, looking for all the world like a couple.
“You hungry?” Holden asked. “Mags makes a great club sandwich.”
“Starving, actually.” I'd been too nervous about the dog handoff to eat this morning. “But I should be buying. You already got the coffee.”
“Next time.” He stood, keeping hold of my hand until the last possible second, letting our fingers slide apart. The loss of contact felt sharper than it should have. “Turkey or ham?”
“Turkey. And thank you.”
He nodded and headed for the counter. I watched him go, watched Mags's eyebrows rise when she spotted him, watched her gaze cut to me and then back to Holden with naked curiosity.
By tonight, half of Prospect Ridge would know Holden Hutchinson had been holding hands with the new guy at the Copper Kettle.
The arrangement sat on the table in front of me. Ranunculus and eucalyptus, soft peach and cream. I touched one of the petals.
You're more than enough. Remember that.