Page 15 of The Love Clause

When she returns, arms full of snacks I definitely didn't approve in our travel plan, I've made a decision.

"You're right," I say as she slides back into the passenger seat.

"I usually am, but about what specifically?" She tears open a bag of something neon orange that will undoubtedly leave residue on my leather seats.

"About needing to appear more…compatible." I choose my words carefully. "For this weekend to succeed, I need to demonstrate that I'm capable of…appreciating your particular energy."

She looks at me for a moment, then laughs. "Wow, that was almost a compliment, wrapped in lawyer-speak. 'Particular energy' is probably the nicest way anyone's ever called me chaotic."

"I didn't say chaotic."

"You thought it." She offers me one of her orange abominations. I decline with a slight shake of my head. "So what's your plan, counselor? How do you intend to convince the world you're madly in love with my 'particular energy'?"

"I'm going to make an effort to be more…receptive." The word feels inadequate, but it's the best I can manage.

"Receptive," she repeats, considering. "Well, it's a start. How about we begin with the music? I promise to pick something less aggressive if you promise not to look like you're being slowly tortured."

It's a small concession, but the smile it brings to her face makes it seem more significant. She scrolls through options and selects something with a mellower vibe—still contemporary, still not what I would choose, but at least the bass isn't threatening to reorganize my internal organs.

As we pull back onto the highway, she starts singing again, but softer this time, less performative. I find myself listening to her voice, imperfect but genuine, as the landscape grows more rural and mountainous around us.

"You know," she says during a break between songs, "for this to work, you're going to have to touch me sometimes. Without looking like you're bracing for impact."

"I'm aware."

"Are you? Because yesterday you held my hand like it might be contagious."

"I was being respectful."

"You were being weird." She turns in her seat to face me more directly. "Couples touch casually all the time. A hand on the back, fingers brushing, that kind of thing. Natural stuff."

"I'll keep that in mind," I say, but her words have sent my thoughts in an unwelcome direction—specifically, to how it felt when we practiced kissing in my apartment. The momentary lapse in my usually ironclad control, the surprising softness of her lips, the scent of her hair...

"You have a stick up your?—"

"Careful," I warn, though there's less edge in my voice than I intended.

"—attitude," she finishes with a smirk. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Counselor."

The final hour of our drive passes with less singing but more conversation. Josie asks questions about the lodge, about the other guests, about how I became a lawyer. I find myself answering more fully than necessary, drawn out by her seemingly genuine interest. She has a way of listening that makes even casual conversation feel meaningful—head tilted, eyes focused, occasional questions that cut to the heart of what matters.

As the GPS announces our approach to Harrison's Lodge, I realize with some surprise that the drive has been…not unpleasant. Challenging, certainly. Unpredictable, absolutely. But also strangely energizing, like I've been speaking a new language that uses muscles I didn't know I had.

"Home sweet temporary home," Josie says as the impressive timber and stone structure comes into view through the trees. "Ready to convince a bunch of rich people we're madly in love?"

"As ready as possible, given the circumstances."

"Such romance," she teases. "Try looking at me like you can't believe your luck instead of like you're calculating the hourly rate for this torture."

I turn to her briefly as I navigate the winding driveway. Her hair is slightly windblown from having the window cracked open, her cheeks flushed with excitement or nerves or both. For a moment, I allow myself to really look at her—not as a solution to a problem or an element to be managed, but as a woman who is undeniably alive in a way few people in my circles ever allow themselves to be.

"Better," she says softly, something shifting in her expression. "Do more of that, and we might just pull this off."

I pull into a parking space, steeling myself for the weekend ahead. Beside me, Josie gathers her things, talking softly to the dog in the back seat. She's a complication I never anticipated, a variable I can't fully control.

And as I watch her prepare to step into my world, I realize with uncomfortable clarity that I'm watching her far more than strictly necessary for our arrangement.

SIX

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