Rules Harbor Cove Wont Keep #2
Chloe looked between them. “That meant something. Interesting.”
“It means leave,” Emily said.
Chloe smiled and left the door exactly as open as she had found it, which was an act of war.
Emily waited until her footsteps faded. “Emergency phrase.”
“Vendor insurance?” Nathan asked.
“It already sounds like something I would say.”
“It does.”
“If I say it, you stop performing. No questions in public. We exit, redirect, or change topic.”
He nodded. “Same for you?”
Emily blinked. “What?”
“If I say it, you stop too.”
“You need an emergency phrase?”
“I may dislike being cornered in public as much as you do.”
That was more than she expected. Not a confession. A door opened two inches and left there.
“Fine,” she said. “Either of us says it.”
She wrote EMERGENCY PHRASE: VENDOR INSURANCE. MUTUAL.
Rule five waited on the page like a tripwire.
Physical contact.
Emily picked up a new pen, decided it was too blue, put it down, and picked the old one back up.
“We need to discuss public affection,” she said.
Nathan didn't make a joke. That helped. It also didn't help at all.
“Yes.”
“Handholding, arm, shoulder, back, proximity in photographs. Things people will expect if this is supposed to read as an engagement.”
“Nothing happens unless you agree before it happens.”
Emily’s pen stopped.
He looked at her directly. “That shouldn't be complicated.”
“It usually becomes complicated when people are watching.”
“Then we keep it simple. I offer. You decide. If there is no time to ask, I don't touch you unless the alternative creates a bigger public problem and you have already approved that specific situation.”
The sentence was practical. Almost annoyingly so.
Emily wrote slower than necessary. OFFER. WAIT. YES/NO. PRIOR PERMISSION ONLY.
“For photographs,” she said, “hand at the upper back is acceptable if you give me warning.”
“What counts as warning?”
“My name, or your hand where I can see it first.”
“Noted.”
“Handholding only when needed. No surprise waist-grabbing.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Do people do that?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t.”
He said it with such immediate distaste that Emily looked at him before she meant to.
The office felt too warm. Probably because Chloe had left the door half open and the lobby fireplace was going, though that explanation failed several principles of airflow.
She wrote NO WAIST-GRABBING in block letters.
Nathan read it. “That can be in all caps.”
“It already is.”
“Good.”
The service bell rang again.
“Emily?” Tyler called. “Mrs. Keane says if the engagement is unofficial, does that mean the signature cocktail can still be official?”
Emily leaned back and looked at the ceiling.
Nathan said, very quietly, “Vendor insurance?”
She gave him a look.
“Too soon?”
“Wildly.”
He reached for a cookie. “We still need kissing.”
Emily coughed.
Nathan paused. “The rule. We still need the rule for kissing.”
“I know what you meant.”
“Your face suggested otherwise.”
“My face is off duty.”
“That seems unlikely.”
She pointed the pen at him. “No kissing unless absolutely necessary and mutually agreed.”
“Define absolutely necessary.”
“No.”
“Emily.”
“No, because the moment we define it, Harbor Cove will sense a loophole.”
“We need operational clarity.”
“I hate when you use my language against me.”
“Then stop making it useful.”
She looked at the page. “Necessary means no reasonable alternative protects the festival, the bank review, or the public exit plan. Even then, we agree first.”
“Verbal agreement?”
“If possible. If not, you offer and I choose. Same structure as touch.”
“And if either of us says no?”
“Then no.”
“Even if people notice.”
“Especially if people notice.”
He nodded once. Emily’s grip on the folder loosened before she could stop it.
She wrote: KISSING: NO UNLESS NECESSARY + MUTUAL. NO MEANS NO. FESTIVAL IS NOT AN EXCUSE.
Nathan studied it. “That last sentence is yours.”
“It needed to be.”
“Yes,” he said. “It did.”
The lobby door opened with a gust of evening air and voices.
Mabel’s carried first. “I am only saying that if they want to be subtle, they shouldn't have secret meetings at the Inn office, which is where every important thing in this town has happened since 1892.”
Mrs. Keane replied, “I just want to know about the cocktail.”
Chloe said something too low to work.
A second later, Aunt Mabel appeared in the doorway, followed by Mrs. Keane and Tyler, who looked like gossip had conscripted him against his will.
Mabel clasped both hands at her chest. “Oh. Are we interrupting?”
“Yes,” Emily said.
“No,” Mrs. Keane said, delighted. “We only need one answer.”
“If this is about the cocktail—”
“It isn't,” Mabel said, which guaranteed worse. “Marissa Vale is in the lobby.”
Emily stood so fast the chair bumped the file cabinet. “What?”
“Not officially,” Mabel said. “She came to ask whether the Inn has availability for Atlantic Coast’s visiting board member on Sunday night. Very casual. Very bank-like.”
Nathan set the cookie down uneaten.
“Where is she?” Emily asked.
“Front desk,” Chloe called from beyond Mabel. “And Grant just walked past the window twice, which is one more time than a person needs to walk past a window.”
Of course. The bank contact, her rival, her aunt-adjacent gossip network, and a lobby full of festival volunteers had converged before the ink on Rule Five dried.
Emily looked at Nathan.
He stood, not quickly enough to look alarmed, not slowly enough to look indifferent. “We need to go out together.”
“I know.”
“Not overperformed.”
“I know.”
“Calm cooperation.”
“I wrote the rule.”
Mabel’s eyes dropped to the legal pad. Emily flipped it closed before the woman could memorize the kissing clause.
“Emily?” Mrs. Keane said with alarming kindness, the most dangerous tone in a small town because it meant sincerity had joined gossip and now neither could be dismissed. “We really are happy for you, dear.”
The words caught Emily in the ribs.
Because Mrs. Keane meant them.
Because the Inn lobby had gone quiet enough to listen.
Because her mother had texted about hats.
Because Friday at five was still sitting on her desk like a loaded timer.
Nathan moved half a step closer. Not touching. Just there.
He lowered his voice. “Your call.”
Emily looked at his hand.
He offered it palm up, low enough that no one else would read the question unless they were looking for it.
She was looking.
This was practical. Temporary. A public signal in a lobby full of people who needed to believe the festival wasn't falling apart around her.
Emily put her hand in his.
Nathan closed his fingers around hers only after she settled there.
The lobby exhaled.
Actually exhaled.
Mrs. Keane smiled like the Inn had given her a free upgrade. Mabel’s face went soft for half a second before triumph returned and ruined it. Tyler whispered, “Oh, wow,” as if handholding were a fireworks permit.
Nathan’s hand was warm and steady.
That wasn't relevant.
Emily stepped into the lobby beside him. “Marissa,” she said, because leadership came before cardiac confusion. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Chloe tells me you have a Sunday lodging question.”
Marissa Vale stood near the front desk in a navy dress and a raincoat folded over one arm. Her gaze flicked to Emily’s hand in Nathan’s, registered it, and returned to Emily’s face with professional warmth.
“Not urgent,” Marissa said. “I was nearby and thought I would ask in person.”
At the window, Grant paused on his third unnecessary pass.
Emily kept her hand in Nathan’s.
Nathan’s thumb didn't move. He didn't perform for Grant. He didn't squeeze. He didn't claim.
He simply stood with her as if they had agreed to stand.
Which they had.
Rules worked, Emily thought.
Then her phone buzzed on the office desk behind her, and every person in the lobby looked toward the sound.
Chloe leaned just enough to see the screen through the doorway.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Emily,” she said carefully. “Your mom says Aunt Mabel sent her a photo.”
Emily looked down at her hand still held in Nathan’s.
The rules worked beautifully on paper.
They just kept walking off the page and taking Nathan Brooks with them.