Page 94 of Red Flag, Green Light

With a flick of his wrist, Mars has one of the advertisements I put together for people folded between his fingers and offered above the counter. “Would love to have you.”

The man wipes his hands on his apron before retrieving the paper, unfolding it, and scanning the words. His steely eyes narrow. “A…Flag Dayfestival?” Somehow, the slits of his eyes thin further on Mars. “Andyou’rerunning it?”

Innocence never looked so guilty as Mars’s bright smile.

“What’s the angle?” Rich grunts.

“Can’t a man plan a festival in this town without being asked so many questions?”

“Not if that man is you. What orphans, puppies, or widows are you rescuing this time?”

Mars’s smile darkens, threateningly intense. “So you’ll be there?”

Rich refolds the paper and stuffs it in his apron. “Yeah. The missus would kill me if I weren’t.”

Mars’s teeth flash. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Before I can thank the man and follow Mars away, steely eyes land on me. “You his girlfriend or something?”

Leg prepped to mount his bike, Mars freezes.

Heat dances across my cheeks.Girlfriend?Am I hisgirlfriend? Girlfriend seems so official. Like a conversation needed to happen concerning it. We’ve never exactly put what we are into words. I’m not even sure we’re dating when all the excursions we’ve gone on—except my birthday—are work-related. Is it still calleddatingif you don’t go more than a single house and yard away from home? What even is the difference betweendatingandhanging out?

Furthermore, do Iwantto be his girlfriend? If I’m his girlfriend, I’ll need to start thinking about long-term plans. There’s a sense of permanency associated with officially accepting such a title, and I can’t believe I’ve not given it an ounce of thought before.

As far as my brain has processed, Mars showed up in my house one day, and I said,haha, that’s weird, anyway, then got on with my life. His love confessions have come too frequently and too quickly for me to actually put stock in them.

Except…except that night. On the trampoline. After we’d talked for hours. And he said he loved me.

In that moment, I believed him.

In that moment, I thought…maybe…

“She’s my fiancée,” Mars says. “We’re getting married on Flag Day, at the festival. Most romantic holiday of the year, you know.”

Rich’s brows lift toward his receding hairline. “Do I know that?”

“You should. Everyone should. It’s fairly commonknowledge, I hear.”

“Huh,” he grunts, then he sniffs and scans me. “Well, congratulations. I’ll make sure the missus knows to bring a wedding gift.”

“Oh, no need,” Mars says. “We’re keeping it very small and on the downlow. My sweetheart’s shy.”

Rich stares at Mars. Because of course he does. I’m staring at him, too. On account of the fact he’s making no sense and is also now, apparently, telling random people that we’re getting married in two months. Finally, Rich shrugs. “Best I don’t try to understand your brain. Lest I lose mine. Go on now. Get out of here before you scare off my customers.”

So…we do.

Once we’re out of Rich’s earshot, Mars says, “What?”

“What do you meanwhat?”

“I can feel your gaze burning a hole in the back of my head.” He casts a look at me. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“We are not getting married on Flag Day.”

He tuts and loops in the street to glide up beside me. “You’re right. I suppose there’s a chance we won’t, technically, get married on Flag Day. The paperwork is likely to be filed before the official procession, but our ceremony day will—”

“Mars.”

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