Page 20 of Tactically Tied

How was she going to keep up this pretense? The warmth of his body next to hers, the way his lips kept finding hers with such ease—it was like standing on the edge of a cliff, and every time he touched her, she swayed a little closer to the edge.

"You two are going to be ratings gold," the producer said, excitement clear in his voice.

She wasn't built for this. She wasn’t an actor; she was a food critic, for heaven's sake. She thrived on precision, on measured movements, exacting thoughts. She’d spent her time in high school in the Home Ec room perfecting recipes, not playing pretend on stage.

But Jed... Jed. What he was doing to her wasn't in any cookbook she'd ever read. His presence was like an unexpected spice, a heat she wasn’t prepared for, making her hunger for things she’d spent years trying to avoid. If she wasn't careful, he’d know. He’d know that she had feelings for him, that she had always had feelings for him. That the kiss they’d shared all those years ago had been a turning point in her life, a moment that had steered her onto a path where she kept looking for a way to turn back.

Now, though, he was holding her in his arms like she meant something. Like she was more than just a woman he’d married for a TV show. And that scared her more than anything.

They were sitting at a small table that Rick, the producer, had set up for the interview. Lights glared in their faces, cameras trained on them. Jed’s shoulder pressed against hers, warm and solid. His thigh touched hers, grounding her to the moment, while their feet brushed under the table. She was thankful she’d changed into closed-toed shoes; if her bare pinky toe had touched his, she was sure she’d be a goner.

Rick cleared his throat and started asking more questions. They were simple at first—how they met, what their families were like. Jed answered easily, his voice smooth and confident.

“We grew up on the same street,” he said, glancing at Jami with a small smile. “There was always this rivalry between our families. But then, we ended up in the same Home Ec class in high school.”

Jami stared at him, caught off guard by the ease with which he was spinning their story. He was playing it up for the cameras, right? This was just for the show.

Jed turned to look at her, his gaze mischievous. “She made chicken dumplings one day,” he continued, his voice dropping to a softer tone, as if he were sharing a secret. “I tasted them and fell half in love with her with the first bite.”

Jami’s breath hitched. She gazed up at him, stunned. Was this part of the act? It had to be. He'd never said anything to her about her dumplings.

“You had to know it was true,” he said, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down her spine.

Jami blinked, her mouth dry. “I... I didn’t know.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving hers. “Well, now you do.”

And then, before she could process what was happening, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers again. This kiss was gentle, teasing at first, but it quickly deepened, pulling her into a whirlpool of sensations. She felt his hand move to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin, and something inside her shattered.

She heard a crash—a violent, internal sound that echoed in the deepest part of her. It was the sound of all her walls coming down, crumbling under the force of this kiss. It was the sound of her falling, of finally admitting to herself what she had been denying for so long. She was in love with Jed Winchester. She had fallen hard, and there was no going back.

The kiss ended, leaving her breathless, dazed. Jed pulled away slightly, his eyes searching hers, his thumb still tracing slow, lazy circles on her cheek. Around them, there was a flurry of movement—cameras flashing, lights brightening, capturing every moment.

It hit her like a splash of cold water. The cameras.

Her head spun. That kiss wasn't real. It was for the show. Just like the one before it. But what about that first kiss? The one back in high school. Why had he done that? She'd never known.

Jami felt like she was drowning, unable to tell where the act ended and reality began. Jed was staring at her, his gaze intense, filled with something she couldn’t quite decipher. And she... she was lost, hopelessly tangled in the web of her own emotions.

"The cameras love you two," Rick's voice called out, breaking the spell. "The audience will as well."

Jami blinked, tearing her gaze away from Jed, feeling the heat flood her cheeks. Her heart was a wild mess, her thoughts jumbled. She looked down at their intertwined hands, her fingers trembling.

This wasn't real. She had to remember that. That look in his eyes, the way he held her hands. It was all just for the cameras.

There was no recipe, no perfect blend of ingredients, that could tell her how to navigate this. She was flying blind, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t have a plan.

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

Jed stood in the kitchen at Grits and Grub, feeling the weight of his staff's eyes on him. His team had been with him for years. They knew how he ran his kitchen—precision was everything. Every cut, every measure, every pinch of spice was orchestrated to achieve the perfect dish.

But then there was Jami.

Jed watched her out of the corner of his eye as she worked beside him, the overhead lights gleaming on her hair. Her knife cuts were... uneven, to say the least. She chopped the vegetables with the grace of someone who knew her way around a kitchen, but not with the finesse he demanded. Her mise en place was a mess of bowls and ingredients, scattered in a way that made his eyebrow twitch. She added salt to the dish—an actual pinch, her fingers grabbing a small mound and sprinkling it into the pot without measurement.

Jed winced, his lips tightening, but he forced himself to stay silent. He felt his staff’s eyes on him, could practically hear the collective intake of breath. This wasn’t the Grits and Grub way, and they all knew it. They were probably waiting for him to step in, to correct her.

But this was Jami. The woman he was head over heels for.

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