“Maybe not exactly,” Elise admits. “But we’d still like to see it.”

“Of course, you should stop in,” I say, giving Brenden’s fingers a squeeze to let him know it’s okay.

It’s going to be tricky, navigating how to keep them believing we’re a couple while not letting anyone else in town catch on to us. The diner is like gossip central, so we’ll need to be careful. But we can do it. I promised him we’d do this.

This handholding is already messing with my head though. We should’ve talked about touching and boundaries. If I’m doing this, I want to make it believable, but I don’t want to do anything that would make Brenden uncomfortable. And I didn’t really prepare myself for the way acting affectionate with him would make me feel.

But it doesn’t matter. Right now, he seems perfectly content to keep our hands together on top of his thigh. I think the contact is keeping him from spiraling. So I’ll hold his hand and try to tamp down the warmth that’s sneaking up my chest.

After everyone has finished their drinks, Brenden gets up, his fingers slipping out of my hold, and collects the mugs to bring them to the sink. May steals his seat as her grandparents turn all their focus on me. They ask about my life (boring), why I chose owning a restaurant (not entirely a choice), and my family (a dad who doesn’t really know me).

I don’t say this about my dad, of course. And when I mention that he also lives in town, Elise and Grant insist they need to meet him. But I apologize, letting them know about his injury and how he’s staying with his sister for at least another few weeks until he recovers. No chance of that meeting happening, thank fuck.

The conversation still makes me squirm a little though. Not necessarily the questions, but the utterly bland impression I must be giving them. Brenden clearly seeks their approval of him and his life choices. I don’t want them to think I’m a bad choice. Even if this isn’t real.

I find myself standing and drifting over toward Brenden when I run out of things to say. He’s at the sink washing dishes, so I step up behind him and place a hand on his hip, hoping the move doesn’t startle him. It needs to look natural. His jump is so tiny, I’m sure everyone else missed it, then he quickly settles into my touch.

Stepping closer, I rest my chin on his shoulder. And I swear I’m doing this for him. To sell this thing. I’m not doing it because I like how it feels. “Need any help?”

He shakes his head, his cheek briefly brushing mine. “Almost done.”