Page 18 of Out on a Limb

The town gossip sure makes things harder now, though, when there’s a sapphire ring sparkling on my finger and a fake engagement I need to sell as real.

“Laugh,” I say, still trying not to move my lips. “Act like I said something funny.”

Stig tilts his head, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “You are being funny. Why are we acting like spies?”

Because it’s 3pm on a Sunday afternoon, and the Starlight Ridge town square is as bustling as it gets. Old folks push walkers between shop windows, squinting at the displays, while young kids run around their parents legs, whooping.

Neighbors stop to chat and music spills out of open doorways. It’s colder than summer, that’s for sure, and the watery sunshine isn’t enough to coax people out of their knit sweaters, but the local cafes have set tables outside anyway.

That’s where Stig and I are sitting: at a cafe on the corner of the town square, with a striped awning and scrubbed metal tables set out in the sunshine. Two mugs of coffee steam in front of us, and there’s a glossy brown slab of fudge cake with two forks.

We’re doing this. We’re on an official public outing as an engaged couple.

Time to polish off my non-existent acting skills.

“Try the cake.” Ignoring my bemused fiance, I fork away a generous bite of fudge cake, then heft it into the air. It’s so dense and moist and packed with chocolate fudge, I swear the fork sags in my hand. “Come on, Hansen. Try to look smitten while I feed you in public.”

“You don’t need to—”

A thick chunk of cake shuts him up, shoved lightning-fast past his lips, and Stig makes a muffled oomph noise before glaring at me and chewing.

There’s a crumb in his freshly-trimmed beard. I brush it away, trying and failing not to catalog the sensation of his surprisingly soft beard against my fingertips. His jaw flexes as he chews.

After a long time, Stig swallows and swigs from his coffee.

“That,” he says, clattering down his mug on the metal table, “was a lot of cake in one bite. Now, why are you acting insane?”

Because I’m jittery as hell around this man, tied up in nervous knots, and it only gets worse as the days go by. The only brief comfort I’ve had is when we held hands the other night, walking home from Flint’s in the darkness, when all this nervous energy settled down inside me and I finally felt calm. Safe.

But Stig hasn’t tried to touch me once since that night.

Oh god, why hasn’t he tried to touch me? Doesn’t he want to? Does he see me as just a friend and fake-wife?

“Because this is our first ‘date’ in public together as an official couple,” I say, “and we need to make it look real.”

A pigeon struts over to our table, pecking hopefully at the paving stones beneath.

Stig slides the cake closer to me. “It’ll help if you stop saying ‘date’ with air quotes, then.”

I blink down at the sticky brown fudge icing, sudden queasiness twisting my insides. I’m the one who picked this cake from the glass counter, asking for the biggest wedge possible, and now the thought of eating a bite makes my belly churn. It’s been like this for days.

Don’t want to eat.

Don’t want to drink.

Ever since Stig moved back into the cabin—his cabin—I’ve barely slept, either. Too busy tossing and turning and chewing my nails to anxious stubs. I’m a mess.

“Go on,” the adventurer says now, coaxing me with that low, rasping voice, his gaze fixed on mine. “You practically drooled all down your front when you saw this cake inside. Try a bite, Jana.”

I tug at the neckline of my green sweater, then reach for the other fork. It trembles in my hand as I cut away a much smaller bite.

“There you go,” Stig murmurs. His blue eyes are narrowed, and he watches me with complete focus as I lift the cake to my lips. His own mouth is turned down behind his beard, his features etched with concern, and it occurs to me for the first time that he might have noticed me not eating. That he cares. “Atta girl. It’s good, right?”

The fork slides past my lips. Sweet, fudgy, chocolatey goodness spreads across my tongue, and I hum with relief as my stomach settles. Nodding quickly, I chew and reach for my coffee, already planning my next bite. More icing, for sure.

The distant sounds of chatter and music and the ringing bells of shop doors seep back into my consciousness—and wow, for a minute there, it was like the only things that existed in the whole universe were the two of us and this giant wedge of cake. Now I’m swallowing and sipping coffee and glancing around to find a few locals watching us, nudging each other and whispering.

Okay, it’s on. Go time.

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