Page 27 of Gap Control

I didn't answer. I slapped down a few bills, stood, and pulled on my jacket.

Outside, a breeze was blowing, and it was still cold. Not brutal, but enough that you felt it through your jeans and noticed the difference between a jacket you wore because it looked good and one actually built for the weather.

We stood near the sidewalk, a few feet from the restaurant's front windows. There was a small patch of brick wall beside a planter full of winter-dry shrubs. It wasn't romantic, exactly, but the lighting was warm.

Mason looked at me. "You want to take it?"

I pulled out my phone. "I figured I'd set a timer. We'll try for the accidental candid thing. Brady likes those."

He nodded once.

I opened the camera app, set the timer, and then held it up. "Okay. We've got ten seconds to look like we like each other."

Mason didn't move.

I looked over.

He was watching me.

"Do you want me to—?" I asked, motioning toward his side. "I mean, an arm around your waist is probably standard issue for this sort of thing."

There was a tiny pause. "Yeah. That's fine."

My hand landed on his lower back. Warm through the fabric. Solid.

He didn't pull away.

We faced the phone. I hit the shutter.

Ten seconds.

He didn't smile. Not really, but his face relaxed.

I smiled like I always did for photos—easy, practiced, slightly crooked.

Flash.

Done.

We stepped apart. Not like we'd touched something hot. Just enough to re-establish personal space.

I checked the photo.

"It's kind of perfect," I said. "You look like the one with emotional depth, and I look like I'm trying not to ruin it."

Mason looked at the screen. "You don't look fake."

I glanced over. "Is that a compliment?"

"I think so."

We started walking back toward the hotel. Side by side. No hurry.

As we approached the hotel, Mason spoke up. "You ever wonder what would've happened if that photo never got posted?"

I stuffed my hands in my pockets. "The one that started all of this?"

He nodded.

---