Page 36 of Steeped In Problems

He bristled. “It’s a burner. I get less spam.”

Kristy bit her lip, holding in a laugh. “You ever done this before?”

“Pretend to be someone’s boyfriend?” He snorted. “No. Not a big market for that in Clear Mountain.”

She went quiet for a moment. “Me neither. Just—if I do anything too weird, let me know?”

He risked a glance her way. She was staring straight ahead, eyes set and mouth tight. He wondered if the act was already wearing on her or if this was just pre-battle nerves. He’d seen it before, in the faces of rookies right before their first real call. Only this time, it wasn’t a domestic disturbance call, just an ex-boyfriend who refused to stay gone.

He merged onto the main road. Bella’s was only ten minutes away, but traffic was a mess—some parade had rerouted half the county through Main Street. Kristy drummed her fingers on her purse, then turned the conversation to safer ground. “So, what’s your favorite Italian dish?”

He squinted. “Probably lasagna.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course. So classic.”

“You asked.”

She giggled, and the tension broke. “I’ll order for you so you can try something new. You look like you’d get overwhelmed by too many options.”

He made a face but let her have it. Truth was, he hadn’t eaten at Bella’s since his last police department Christmas party, which felt like another man’s life at this point.

They pulled up outside the restaurant. Even at five minutes to open, the lot was packed. Tanner found a spot at the edge, double-checked the locks, and met Kristy on her side before she could open her own door.

She arched an eyebrow. “Chivalry?”

“I told you I was going to be the best fake boyfriend ever,” he told her with a lopsided grin.

She gave a quick, approving nod. “Good start.”

They walked up to the front entrance, and he felt the first prick of nerves hit him again.

Bella’s wasn’t fancy, but it tried hard. White tablecloths, real candles in tiny glass holders. The walls were covered in old black-and-white photos of the original owner’s family, all of them looking like they’d rather be anywhere else than frozen in a frame above a bunch of strangers eating spaghetti. The lights inside were dim and gold, every window frosted with condensation and laughter. He hesitated at the door, but Kristy just went in, all business, her sundress trailing a lemon-bright wake behind her.

The hostess was a woman Tanner recognized—she’d once been married to a local SWAT member and now, worked as Bella’s unofficial gossip line. Perfect to carry word to Mark that Kristy was off the market. She gave them both a once-over, smile widening. “Tanner Blaze. What a surprise to see you here, and with a date no less. Table for two?”

He nodded. “Somewhere intimate, please.”

“Of course, right this way.”

As they walked, Kristy leaned in close enough to whisper, “You’re supposed to put your hand on my back.”

He stopped. “What?”

She tilted her head, a signal for him to look. Sure enough, the couples at every other table had at least one hand resting on a back, a shoulder, a knee. He felt like a moron.

He waited until they turned the corner, then moved in closer and placed his hand on the small of Kristy’s back. Her hair smelled like something citrus, and he could feel the heat of her skin through the fabric.

She shot him a look, soft and half-mocking. “Natural, act natural.”

He kept his hand there as they reached their table, a little corner booth with a view of the street. It felt easy after that, not forced at all.

The hostess left them with menus and a bottle of sparkling water. Kristy waited until she was gone, then grinned at him. “See? Not so hard.”

He grunted but didn’t argue. He opened his menu to distract himself, though if he had his way, he would stick with the lasagna.

Their waiter appeared all smiles and hair gel, and took their orders. Kristy ordered them a bottle of red wine. They kept it light. When the waiter left, Kristy leaned over the table, voice dropping. “I think we’re supposed to look into each other’s eyes.”

He rolled his. “You’re making this worse.”

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