"Ouch." Sylvie winces. "Though to be fair, marrying an ex-con to inherit a house isn't exactly practical either."
"It's a business arrangement," I insist, though the memory of Colt's intense gaze makes my stomach flutter in ways that feel distinctly unbusinesslike. "Six months married, then divorce. I get Grandma's house, he gets respectability."
"And what if he expects more than just respectability?" Sylvie wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Have you seen the man? Those arms alone could make a girl forget her own name."
Heat rushes to my face. I have noticed his arms. And his shoulders. And the way his t-shirt stretched across his broad chest yesterday. Even the way his large hands dwarfed mine when we shook on our pending agreement.
"Separate living arrangements," I mumble, trying to banish the mental image of those hands on my body. "It's all in the contract."
"A contract." Sylvie laughs. "How romantic."
"It's not supposed to be romantic," I argue, though my racing pulse whenever I think about him suggests my body hasn't gotten that memo. "It's practical. Mutually beneficial."
"Right. And the fact he looks like he stepped off the cover of Bad Boys Monthly has nothing to do with it."
The bell over the door chimes before I can respond, saving me from having to lie about my attraction to Colt. My relief lasts approximately two seconds before I realize who just walked in.
Colton Reeves fills the doorway of The Grind like he was built to a different scale than ordinary men. Faded jeans hug powerful thighs. A black henley with the sleeves pushed up showcases those arms Sylvie just mentioned. His dark hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the nape of his neck.
My mouth goes dry.
"Speak of the devil," Sylvie murmurs before plastering on her customer service smile. "Welcome to The Grind! What can I get you?"
Colt's eyes find mine immediately, ignoring Sylvie completely. "Got a minute to talk?"
"I'm working," I manage, though my voice comes out embarrassingly breathy.
"I can cover," Sylvie offers too quickly. "Take your break now."
I could strangle her for the obvious matchmaking, but part of me is grateful. Waiting until after my shift to hear his decision would be torture.
"Fine." I untie my apron and hang it on the hook. "Let me grab my phone."
Colt waits silently, his presence drawing curious glances from the few customers at tables. I lead him toward the small patio area out back, away from prying eyes. The space is empty this morning, metal tables still damp from an early mist that burned off hours ago.
"Coffee?" I ask stupidly, then wince. "I mean, I work at a coffee shop and didn't even offer you anything."
"I'm good." He remains standing, towering over me. "About your proposal."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "You've made a decision."
"I have questions first." His voice is deep, serious. "What does your father think about this plan?"
"He still doesn't know yet." I lift my chin. "And frankly, his opinion isn't relevant."
Something flickers across Colt's face. Amusement, maybe. "The man carries a gun and hates my guts. I'd say his opinion is pretty relevant."
"He'll adjust." I hope I sound more confident than I feel. "Once he sees this is happening with or without his blessing."
Colt studies me for a long moment. "You really aren't afraid of him, are you?"
"I'm afraid of a lot of things." Failing. Debt. Never achieving my dreams. "But not my father."
He nods, seeming to come to a decision. "What exactly do you expect from me in this marriage?"
The question catches me off guard. "I told you. Public appearances. Looking like a legitimate couple. Nothing complicated."
"And physical expectations?" His gray eyes bore into mine. "What happens in private?"
