Page 27 of Seale the Deal

That feels dramatic.

Ruger shoves his hands into his pockets. I hate to say it, but she’s right.

We have to get our shit together, Remi says. If we buckle under pressure like that, people are going to figure it out.

I wasn’t expecting the pressure to feel worse than the immigration office, I say.

Didn’t you read Remi’s study guide? Ruger asks with a teasing grin.

Remi glares at him. That guide got her here, didn’t it? She turns her attention to me. For the rest of the day, just remember to say we’ve been together for just over a year. We don’t have to go into detail. In fact, the less detail, the better. It’s more natural.

I nod as I mouth just over a year to myself, like that will help me feel less panicked the next time I’m put on the spot.

Remi groans. Why did Agnes have to retire? She was perfect for that job.

A deaf woman blindly approving government paperwork. That’s a huge liability, I point out.

And now Bonnie is our liability, Remi says with a sigh. I need a coffee the size of my head.

Walter? Ruger asks.

Remi nods. Walter.

Who’s Walter? I ask, following them to Remi’s truck.

He owns the coffee shop in town, Remi explains. And if news is going anywhere, it’s going to him first.

It’s not a long drive before we stop in front of a weathered building that could use a power wash.

This? I point out the window. This is where we’re getting coffee?

Remi waves a hand. The inside looks better.

The inside does not look better.

Half of it is a touristy knickknack shop, and the other half is furnished with white plastic patio furniture everyone’s aunt had in the nineties with the fake latticing and fear that if you sat on it the wrong way, it would just snap.

Remi turns toward me and Ruger, eyebrows raised in warning. Now that Bonnie knows, you two need to look like you’re obsessed with each other.

Ruger’s jaw tightens, but his hand finds mine and laces our fingers together. The heat of his palm seeps into mine, and the contact is dizzying. I try to look casual, but my skin feels like it’s vibrating.

Remi! Ruger! a voice calls cheerfully from behind the counter.

Now I’m hot. Not from the stress of acting—well, yes, that too—but because Ruger’s hand is in mine, and he’s not letting go.

You okay? Ruger murmurs into my ear, breath warm against my neck.

No. That does not help.

No, I manage, breathless.

He lets go of my hand only to slide his arm around my waist and pull me in close. His fingers rest just above my hip. This is also not helping.

Don’t worry, he says quietly. Walter’s a great guy. We’ll get in and out as fast as we can. Don’t pass out on me, okay?

His voice is gentle, coaxing. I nod because I can’t speak.

Walter must be the man behind the counter, and he spots us immediately.