I pulled Chloe’s car up to my garage and hopped out. Seeing the light on next door, I walked around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door before Chloe could. The look on her face was one of confusion.

“Loretta’s still up,” I said in a whisper with a nod in the sixty-something woman’s direction.

When Chloe narrowed her eyes as if racking her brain, it struck me she didn’t know the owner of the yarn shop or that the woman kept track of everybody’s business and then some.

“Busybody,” I said quietly, keeping my body between my fiancée and the older woman’s house. “A sweet lady, but let’s just say we need her to believe we’re in love.”

“She gossips,” Chloe said with a nod and a frown.

“Not mean-heartedly, but she prides herself on knowing what’s going on in this town, and she has the means to spread it. She owns the Fat Cat Yarn Shop.” I gestured with my head toward the backside of the Main Street stores that were visible from the other side of Loretta’s garage, then extended my hand, practically feeling my neighbor’s eyes on my back.

Without blinking, Chloe took my hand and allowed me to pull her out of the car. “Supposed to be a big moment,” I said, then wrapped both my arms around her, lifted her off the ground to kiss her, and did a half spin with her to set her on the driveway.

She held on to my upper arms to steady herself, avoided my gaze, then let out a quiet, self-conscious laugh.

“Going to take me a bit to get used to this,” she whispered. “Thanks for thinking on your feet.”

I offered my arm for her to take and accompanied her to the trunk, getting caught up in the charade.

It only took the two of us three trips to unload everything she’d brought, which admittedly wasn’t much. I had all the furniture we needed, and she’d said she’d sort through that later, when she decided what to do with her apartment.

We stacked her boxes against the wall in the dining area for now, her suitcases alongside them.

“It’s not a big place,” I told her, thinking how strange it was that she’d never been here before and now she was moving in. “Master is there”—I pointed to the interior door by the back entry where we’d come in—“and everything else is pretty much right here.”

Half of the house was one big open area from front to back that included the living and dining areas and the kitchen. The second bath and bedroom, which I’d set up as my office, were up front next to the living room.

“I’ll unpack my food,” she said. “Where should I put everything?”