Page 33 of The Bodyguard's Fall

I stared at the Keller’s sign above the shop. “So…how are we doing this then?”

He motioned toward the bakery, a weird calm confidence coming out of him. “We’ll go inside. We’ll hold hands, make out for a bit, and then pay for our stuff.”

“We will not be making out,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, while he smiled. “Shouldn’t we have more of a game plan?” I asked, not stalling at all.

He eyed me. “We’re just holding hands and picking out cinnamon rolls, Rawlins. Anything else would look over the top and draw attention.”

“Are you sure? I thought we would only be dancing at Will’s wedding, but you threw in lots of over-the-top there.”

A smile crossed his face. “We had an audience, and I had a point to get across.” He leaned closer. “Besides, I think you kind of liked it.”

Before the flush on my cheeks could grow out of control, I motioned to the bakery. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Just act as natural as possible,” he said. “Don’t be memorable.”

“You just lost your point. That’s terrible boyfriend advice.”

He chuckled softly and climbed out of his truck. “I’ll grab your door.”

When he stepped out, he paused casually, looking in all directions before he sauntered toward my door and yanked it open. His side-profile jawline was firm, doing its thing as he scanned the streets and cars parked nearby.

When I hesitated to get out, he wiggled his fingers.

“Is this overkill?” I asked.

“What?”

“You opening my door? I can do it.”

His brows raised. “Not in my truck, Rawlins.”

He helped me down, keeping a firm grip on my hand as he maneuvered me out of the way to shut the door.

His fingers interlocked easily with mine like it was something we’d always done. It was just a strong, masculine hand holding mine somewhat possessively. Easy, simple, and nothing to get worked up about.

Tate would never let me live it down, if I did.

The smell of cinnamon and maple greeted us inside the bakeshop, making me instantly crave the fall weather. We were a week or two shy of consistently cool mornings and crisp evenings. But if there were anything to help get in the mood for the season, it would be a sticky bun from this bakery. No matter that I’d just been stuffed full of Ann’s pumpkin bread, I’d make the room.

I held Tate’s hand as we perused the display case, proud of myself for the casual ease with which I accomplished this feat. He would have no cause to tease me after this. I was a natural.

A pretty redhead, with her hair pulled back and a faint streak of flour on her cheek, poked her head out from the back room.

“Hey, Sadie,” Tate said, smiling at her.

“What?! Hi!” Sadie exclaimed as she took both of us in. Sadie had been younger than me growing up, but I was surprised how nice it was to see a friendly face.

Tate released my hand just as she came out from behind the counter to give me a brief hug, smelling like yeast and maple. A very good combination.

“What are you guys doing in town?” she asked me.

I blinked, frozen.

Suddenly, I forgot everything.

I had envisioned the physical contact part of this moment. Holding Tate’s hand. Smiling at him on occasion. Looking like we belonged together.

I hadn’t envisioned the part where we had to deceive and lie to old friends.