Page 6 of Knot Your Sugar Rush
“Gram—” I warn, already feeling the blush creep up my neck.
She’s undeterred. “And he brought the papers himself. That’s not just neighborly, that’s downright charming.”
“Gram.” I shoot her a pleading look.
Jamie chuckles. “I don’t mind. I like the personal touch.”
She pours tea with theatrical flair, the scent of bergamot and honey rising like steam from memory. Then she winks. Actuallywinks.“Personal touch is important. Especially when the landlord’s young, handsome, and single.”
The pen slips from my fingers and clatters against the table.
Gram just pats my shoulder and drifts back toward the counter, humming something that sounds strangely like a love song with notes from the wedding march. My face is on fire.
“She’s... enthusiastic,” I mutter, glaring at the lease.
Jamie’s voice is amused but warm. “She’s great. Reminds me of my Nonna. Matchmaking was kind of her whole personality.”
I shoot him a look. “Please don’t encourage her.”
“No promises.”
I huff a laugh and try to focus on the words in front of me. My hands are shaking just a little, but I grip the pen, swallow, and sign my full name.Camellia Rose Vale. The last stroke of my name settles on the page, and I feel like I’ve just jumped off a high dive. Exhilarated. Terrified. Kind of free.
Jamie reaches out and closes the folder gently. “That’s it. You’re officially the tenant of 2 Waterfront Lane.”
I stare at the table, then glance up at him. “It feels unreal. Like I’m waiting for someone to yank it away and say, ‘Just kidding.’”
“Nope,” he says. “It’s yours. I believe in it. And I believe in you.”
Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back. He’s shown me more kindness in the few days I’ve known him than Eric had our entire relationship.
“Thank you, Jamie. Really.”
“Anytime.” I can tell he means it.
Gram claps her hands from the stove. “Well, this calls for a celebration! Jamie, you’ll stay for supper?”
I nearly knock over my teacup. “Gram!”
Jamie laughs. “I’d love to, but I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding, you’re investing,” Gram says with a wink. “Hope and roast chicken—both essential in my book.”
I cover my face. “I’m going to need new walls. You’ve embarrassed me out of these.”
Jamie leans in slightly, and that warm cinnamon scent brushes against my skin. “We could do a celebration another day. Coffee, lunch, whatever works for you.”
My brain short-circuits. “I’m going to be really busy. Like, schedule-packed, supply-run, candy-theory busy.”
He smiles like I’ve said something adorable. “No rush. Anytime’s good to celebrate. I’ll be around.”
Something in his tone makes me look up. Really look. And for a second, the warmth in his eyes makes it hard to breathe.
“Okay,” I say. Soft. Honest.
Gram beams like she’s already picking out centerpieces.
And I try not to imagine what celebrating with Jamie might feel like. But the thought’s already rooted, warm and slow and sugary sweet.
