Page 63 of In This Moment

“Yeah, I…” Sighing, he narrowed his eyes. “Sometimes, I just don’t know what to say to you.”

What did that mean? “Are you upset with me?” She’d tried to bolster him, not hurt him.

“No.” He tucked her hair behind her ears. Tone apologetic, he shook his head. “No, not at all. Journalism is very cut-throat, and your personality is the opposite. I have to be honest. Most people in your position would take advantage, go after my job, and not hesitate to look at the trail of dust behind them. But, here you are, conjuring ways to show my worth and doing nothing except supporting. I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

Oh. Well, geez. “I’d never do something like that, even if we weren’t romantically involved.”

“I know.” The corners of his mouth curved in a smile. “That’s my whole point.”

Before she could reply, he smacked a quick kiss to her lips, and stood, taking her with him. “Let’s go get you a croissant.”

Alrighty. Discussion over.

They dressed and took Twain next door to feed him. She waited outside, letting sunshine bathe her face. Humidity clung to a warm breeze while birds chirped. Cut grass and pollen wafted in the air, reminding her of her childhood where she’d grab a book, climb a tree, and read half the day. She should do that again soon. Maybe minus the tree part and sit under one instead.

Walking toward and down the Main Square in a comfortable silence, townsfolk nodded and smiled knowingly at them. As if others knew something they didn’t, and were leaving breadcrumb hints by way of grins. She’d nearly forgotten the aspects of small towns when she’d been swallowed by mediocrity in a big city. A community. Friends, neighbors. Part of her had wanted that escape. Having almost no privacy and tired of rumors, she’d fled.

And had lost nearly every aspect of her identity.

Outside The Busy Bean, he paused. “Okay, seriously. Did you color on my face with permanent marker while I was sleeping? What’s with all the stares and smiles? It’s creepy.”

Laughing, she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s their way of saying they know about our relationship, and they approve.”

“Huh.” He scratched his jaw. “That was quick.”

“Could be worse.” She shrugged. “Take it as a compliment. They like you, or else they wouldn’t accept us together.” He was a transplanted Yankee and not born one of them. Backwards as the mindset was, it was truth. Proof that her town was kind once they got to know someone. Acclimation wasn’t just his process.

“All right. That I take issue with.” Hands on his hips, he frowned. “We shouldn’t need approval from anyone. If we wanna be together, we’ll be together.”

Ah, there was the grumpy goose she’d met at the curb not long ago. The northerner unacquainted with the ways of the south and frustrated to no end.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?”

She hadn’t realized she was, but that didn’t stop her. “No reason.”

His eyes narrowed to slits.

“Okay,” she said through a sigh. “At the risk of sounding condescending, you’re cute when you’re mad. And, you’re right. We shouldn’t need approval from anyone. But, it’s a good thing that they like you. It means they’ve noticed your character and attributes, and accept you as a good partner for me. This place is your home now. I want you to be comfortable. Besides, it’s not that different than meeting your family. Do they have to like me in order for us to stick? No, but it would make things less difficult.”

A grunt, and he crossed his arms. “Point taken. It’s still archaic.”

She huffed a laugh and opened the door to the coffee shop. “Let’s consume caffeine.”

“Stop that.” He darted his gaze around as if checking for spies. “They see you holding a door for me and I’ll become a pariah.”

Propping the door with his foot, he nudged her inside, letting out a comical breath of relief.

“You’re my kind of dork, Graham.” Laughing, she looped her arm through his and stared at the board above the counter. “Me thinkst you need a double shot.”

“A triple, me lady.”

The shop wasn’t very large, like most in the Main Square, but it was tastefully decorated with Italian tile floors, artistic pencil sketches of coffee in frames, and latte colored walls above a white chair rail. White iron tables were scattered throughout the lobby, nearly all of them occupied.

Candy, owner of the shop and two years Rebecca’s senior, smiled politely as she waved them forward. Stout build with a cherubic face and short brunette bob, she reminded Rebecca of a nicer, more subtle version of the character Janice from the Friends TV show.

“What in the Lifetime movie is going on here?” She eyed Rebecca and Graham. “My ears have not deceived me. You two are an item!”

“Hi, Candy. We sure are.” Rebecca dug her wallet out of her purse. “How are you?”

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