Page 27 of The Accidental Honeymoon

Jay nods and sticks his elbow out expectantly. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t at least offer to walk you home?”

Shaking my head, I take his elbow and let him walk me out of Manuel’s Saloon. It’s a quick walk to my apartment, even for two not-completely-sober newlyweds. We make it in no time, even though I don’t want the night to end.

When we get to my door, I turn, sighing.

Jay steps closer. My breath catches as I tilt my head back and look at him.

“I had a really good time tonight, Calla.”

I nod. “Same.”

My mind is a whirl of thoughts and feelings I don’t want to examine too closely. The night was supposed to be a chore, an obligation. But it’s turned into something else.

Something dangerously enjoyable.

Jay’s hand rises to my cheek. His touch sends a jolt through me, like static from the dry winter air. I can’t help but step into his touch. He leans in, his forehead nearly touching mine. I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips.

My eyes close. My heart thuds a quick drumbeat against my ribs. I tilt my head up, waiting. Mostly, I’m wondering if I should stop this… I don’t really want to.

We pause, suspended in the moment, and time stretches like taffy. One beat. Two. Three.

Then, as if on cue, we both pull back, laughing nervously.

“Method acting!” Jay says, rubbing the back of his neck. “For our fake marriage.”

As if I needed that part explained.

“We’re really getting into character. It just goes to show how devoted we are to fooling your sponsors.”

“My sponsors. Right,” he says. I’m pretty sure he had forgotten them entirely.

The silence that follows is heavy with everything we’re not saying. I know there’s a spark between us. Tonight made that undeniable. But it’s a spark we can’t afford to ignite.

This is supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a convenient fiction. Adding real feelings to the mix would complicate everything.

I open my door. The warm air rushes out from the doorway. I stand halfway in and halfway out of the door, awkwardly. “Good night,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yup.” Jay thrusts his hands in his pockets and smiles atme while I close the door. With a final wave, he turns to go. I close the door, resting my palm against the flat surface.

Cora might have warned me of my habit of making grand gestures for guys I like. But sometimes? Grand gestures are worth it. Even if it’s just for Jay, a man who is technically my husband, but will never be more than a friend.

Worth. It.

ten

CALLA

I’mdying.Maybe not literally, but I only slept for a few hours. And because I was tipsy when I finally crashed, those hours were not good sleep.

But I put on a brave face this morning because I don’t want to seem like an old lady who needs her routine. Which, let’s be real, is exactly what I am.

In any event, Mount Gemstone is exactly as I remember it from that one YMCA summer camp I went to as a kid. It’s quaint, colorful verging on tacky, and utterly charming in its kitschy, Wild West glory. The ticket booth at the entrance looks like it was plucked straight from an old cowboy movie, complete with peeling paint and crooked signs. I half expect a mustachioed sheriff to pop out and demand to see our gold.

What I don’t expect is the sheer size of Jay’s crew. We’ve barely stepped out of his SUV when a small army of photographers, assistants, and one very harried-looking publicist descends upon us. Jay waves them off with the practiced nonchalance of a man who’s used to being swarmed, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.

This is supposed to be a low-key shoot, yet nothing about it feels low-key. Especially not me. I’ve been mind-numbingly nervous since dawn this morning.

The parking lot is mostly empty, a vast expanse of cracked asphalt and faded lines. On weekends, this place is probably packed with families and school groups. But today is a late Monday morning, so it has the forlorn air of an abandoned amusement park.

---