It was nothing. A simple gesture. The kind of thing couples did without thinking.
Except we weren’t a couple. We were business partners in the world’s most ridiculous scheme.
So why did it feel like someone had just revved my engine?
He pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned, his expression shuttering back into careful neutrality. But I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened like someone grinding gears.
“We should keep moving,” he said, his voice flat.
I nodded, not trusting my voice. I tucked the kettle corn into one of my bags, my hands shaking slightly. We continued our circuit of the market in relative silence, stopping at the bread vendor and the flower stand where I chatted with my competitor with professional courtesy. Through it all, I was hyperaware of Mario beside me, of the careful space he maintained between us, of the way he nodded politely when spoken to but volunteered nothing.
Every interaction felt like a poorly rehearsed play. At the cheese stand, I laughed too loudly at something completely unfunny. Mario attempted to put his arm around my shoulders and somehow managed to knock over a display of artisanal crackers. We both dove to catch them, resulting in an awkward tangle of limbs that probably looked more like a wrestling match than a romantic moment.
“Sorry,” he muttered, steadying me as we both straightened up.
“No problem,” I chirped, my voice unnaturally bright. “Happens all the time!”
It absolutely did not happen all the time. I had never knocked over crackers in my life.
By the time we’d made our way back to the parking area, I was exhausted. Not from the shopping, but from the constant performance. From maintaining the perfect balance of couple-like behavior without crossing any actual lines. From pretending that the touch of his thumb against my lips hadn’t affected me at all.
“Thank you,” I said as we reached my car. “For... helping. With the honey vendor situation.”
“Thank you for the rescue,” he replied. “I owe you one.”
We stood there for a moment, the autumn sun warming our faces, neither of us seeming to know how to end this strange, charged encounter. Finally, Mario cleared his throat.
“I should go,” he said. “Ben’s expecting me for some project involving power tools.”
“Right. Of course.” I fumbled for my keys, desperate to escape before I said or did something irreversibly stupid. “I’ll see you... around.”
“See you around,” he echoed.
It wasn’t until I was home, groceries spread across my kitchen counter, that my phone buzzed. A notification from the Autumn Grove Community Facebook page. I opened it—and my stomach dropped.
June’s latest post.
The photo caught the exact moment Mario wiped the kettle corn from my lips. The angle was flattering, the light golden, and somehow she’d managed to crop out the cracker catastrophe entirely. We looked... happy. Like a real couple sharing a sweet, private moment.
The caption: “Spotted these two lovebirds at the farmers market! Sweeter by the day! #AutumnGroveLove #SweetAsHoney #CoupleGoals”
Forty-three likes. Twelve comments. My mother’s row of heart-eye emojis. Ben’s “GET A ROOM .”
I stared at the screen, my chest tight.
It should have been funny. Harmless. Just another post in the endless stream of small-town social media. But what unsettled me most wasn’t the gossip or the comments.
It was that, in that frozen frame, we didn’t look like actors fumbling through a performance.
We looked real.
And, worse, in that moment under the oak tree, despite all the awkwardness and cracker-related disasters, it had felt real.
That was the part I couldn’t afford to admit. Not even to myself.
CHAPTER7
Mario
