Maybe not. But I want to.
“She’s the kind of person who likes being seen with people. Not for who they are, but for how they make her look.”
Addison finally turns toward me, brow raised. “And how do you make her look?”
“Like she won a prize,” I say flatly. “Which is weird, considering she never actually wanted me — just wanted to make sure no one else did.”
That slips out before I can catch it. But I don’t take it back.
Because it’s true.
I’ve had relationships before. Short ones. Easy ones. The kind where everyone laughs, takes selfies, and keeps it light. Nobody digs too deep. Nobody asks what keeps you up at night. Cassandra was one of those.
Addison? She’s the opposite of that.
She watches like she wants to understand — not judge, not manipulate. Just… understand.
And that’s rare.
That’s why I offered to build the wedding arch.
Not just because I can, but because she looked like she was going to break from holding everything up alone. And I know what that feels like.
We reach the parking lot. I kill the engine and lean my arms on the wheel. “I don’t like the way that felt.”
“How what felt?” she asks.
“Cassandra, her flair for drama.”
“It’s a small town,” she says quietly. “Exactly what I said. People notice, then they talk.”
“Yeah. But it bothers you.”
Her fingers tighten around her clipboard. “I’ve spent a long time building trust here. Being reliable. Professional. The kind of person people turn to when things fall apart.”
I nod. “And you’re worried that being seen with me will…”
“I don’t want to mix my professional life and personal life, and I don’t want potential clients thinking I would.”
I’m not sure what I can offer to counter her argument.
She reaches for the door handle.
“Good work today, Addy.” I extend my hand as an excuse to stay with her a moment more.
The nickname slips out before I can weigh it, and the way her eyes widen — surprised, pleased — sends a little jolt straight through my chest. She sets her hand in mine for what should be a quick, professional shake, but the contact lingers... one, two, three heartbeats.
“See you Thursday evening?” I ask, thumb brushing her knuckles before I can stop it.
“Six sharp, I’ll bring pie,” she says — voice steady, though I hear the slight hitch under the word sharp.
“Text me when you’re home safe, okay?” My grin feels ridiculous and unstoppable.
She nods, slides out into that honey-colored light, and shuts the door with a soft thump. I wait to leave until her hatchback coughs to life. Only then do I pull away, taillights winking at her like a conspiratorial goodbye.
Halfway down the block, I notice I’m still smiling. Cruel to Be Kind starts looping in my head again, and I don’t even try to fight it. Orchard 1, Coach 0… and I’m completely fine with the score.
Because for all her polish, Addison Bennett is scared. Not of me, but of what loving someone like me might cost her.
