Page 201 of What We Brave
"Three." I unbuckle. I have to force my arm to extend, bridging the gap between the seats to put my hand on Blake's knee.Make the first move, Laine. Establish the baseline.
"People are going to look. They're going to do the math. Two guys, one girl, too much physical contact. And that's fine." My stomach does a nervous little flip, but I push the words out anyway. "We don't owe anyone an explanation."
Blake's quiet. His eyes drop to my hand on his knee. I can see the gears grinding behind that stoic face. Threat evaluation. Risk assessment. He’s doing the exact same thing my brain is doing, just hiding it better.
"Blake." I wait until he meets my eyes. "I want to walk through that market holding your hand. Both your hands." My chest goes tight.So tired of being careful. So tired of running."I want to buy stupid vegetables and eat samples and beusout there. The real us."
The parking lot hums around us. Someone's kid is screaming about kettle corn.
Blake uncrosses his arms. "Okay," he says quietly.
Reid squeezes my knee. "For the record, I was already on board. I didn't need the speech."
"You always need the speech. You just like hearing me talk."
"That's... actually true."
I grab both their hands after we climb out of the truck. Blake's fingers are stiff at first, rough with calluses, before they slowly curl around mine. Reid's grip is instant, easy, swinging my arm like we're heading to a carnival.
Two hands. Two men. One very public Saturday morning.
Who does this? Lunatics. I am a lunatic.
Sunlight hits my face the second we step into the main aisle. The market is a sea of canvas tents, dogs on leashes, and people. So many people.
We make it approximately fifteen feet before the first look.
A woman with a double stroller clocks us as we pass. Eyes on me, then left to Reid, then right to Blake, then down to our joined hands. Ican practically see the arithmetic happening behind her sunglasses. Her gaze lingers a half-second too long before she looks away.
That’s one.My throat does a dry swallow.One person doing the math.
Reid’s thumb sweeps over my knuckles. He didn't miss the woman's stare—he never misses anything—but he doesn't look at her. Instead, he swings our joined hands and leans right into my space. "Okay, priority check. Are we doing coffee first, or are we diving straight into the baked goods? Because I smell cinnamon, and I'm willing to throw down for a good pastry."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. He's doing it on purpose. Building a bubble.
"We can look for pastries," I say.
We drift toward the produce stalls, and this is where Blake comes alive. Not in the way Reid comes alive—loud, social, taking up space. Blake comes alive in the quiet way. His hand finally releases mine so he can pick up a tomato, turn it over, check the stem end, press gently with his thumb. He does this with three tomatoes before selecting one.
I watch his hands. So capable. So precise. I love watching him work, even if the work is just evaluating salad ingredients. I bump my hip against his. "You are the most intense vegetable shopper I have ever seen."
"There's a difference between a good tomato and a grocery store tomato."
That little devil on my shoulder tells me to wind him up. "They're all red and round, Blake."
He gives me a look of such genuine offense that a laugh actually bubbles out of me. "They arenotall—" He holds up the tomato he selected like he's presenting evidence in court. "This one was vine-ripened. Full color development. Firm but not hard. Smell the stem end."
I lean in and smell it. It smells like summer and dirt and green things. He smells like cedar and clean laundry. I want to press my face into his neck.
"Okay, that's an incredible tomato," I admit.
"Thank you." He sets it in the bag with the gravity of a man who has proven an important point.
Reid reappears from wherever he wandered off to. He slides an arm around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. "Try this one. Smoked gouda. It'll change your life."
He holds a toothpick in front of my mouth. I take the cheese, leaning back into his solid heat. This is nice. This is so nice. Just us, teasing Blake about tomatoes, eating cheese, existing.
Then I glance right.
