The waiter placed a hot latte in front of Kittie. She grabbed the ceramic mug with both hands, letting the heat seep into her freezing palms. She took a massive gulp, letting the scalding liquid burn away the bitter taste Preston had left in her mouth.
Connor sat across from her. He leaned forward, his broad chest pressing against the edge of the table. He did not touch his coffee. He just watched her, his posture completely still, offering a silent, open space for her to fall into.
Kittie let out a long, shaky breath.
"My mother," Kittie started, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "Dolores. She thinks I am a defective product sitting on a clearance shelf. Every week, it is a different restaurant, a different guy in a suit telling me how to fix my life."
Connor's eyes darkened. His index finger tapped the table once.
"What other kind of trash has she set you up with?" he asked.
The genuine interest in his voice chipped away at Kittie's defenses. Her chest felt heavy, weighed down by months of suppressed anger.
"It is not just the setups," Kittie said, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "It is my own terrible choices. My ex, Eben Richardson. I caught him in my bed with my best friend. So now, I am completely immune to the concept of romance. I just want to be left alone."
Connor's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second, a detail so fleeting Kittie missed it entirely. His posture remained perfectly sympathetic, though the muscles in his jaw feathered with a sudden, violent tension.
"What is your plan, then?" Connor asked softly. "You cannot just keep throwing coffee at people."
Kittie rubbed her temples. A dull headache throbbed behind her eyes.
"If I can just survive the Thanksgiving dinner next month without bringing home a disaster, I will do anything," she muttered.
Connor's finger stopped tapping. Thanksgiving. The timeline clicked into place in his mind like a loaded magazine.
"What if there was a way to permanently fix this?" Connor asked.
Kittie looked up, her eyebrows pulling together.
"I do not have the cash to hire a high-end escort to play my fake boyfriend, Connor," she said, waving a hand in the air.
Connor let out a low chuckle. The sound vibrated in the small space between them, deep and magnetic. Kittie felt a sudden, strange flutter in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed hard, shifting in her seat.
The air between them grew thick. The background noise of the cafe seemed to fade out.
Then, her phone vibrated against the wooden table.
The buzzing sound shattered the quiet moment. Kittie looked down. The screen lit up with Dolores's name.
All the color drained from Kittie's face. Her skin turned pale and clammy.
She hit the red button to decline the call. A second later, a rapid series of text message notifications pinged loudly.
Kittie picked up the phone. Her eyes scanned the family group chat.
Dolores: Preston just called me screaming. What is wrong with you?
Aunt Mary: Kittie, you are not getting any younger.
Dolores: You are an embarrassment.
Connor watched her shoulders cave in. He saw the exact moment her spirit cracked. The timing was perfect.
Kittie slammed the phone face-down on the table. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.
"Are you having trouble with your shop's lease, too?" Connor asked quietly.
Kittie dropped her hands. She stared at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"How did you know that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Just a guess," Connor said. "Your coffee shop and floral business... it is struggling. What if we make a trade?"
Kittie frowned. The headache pounded harder.
"A trade?" she repeated. "You are a programmer. What kind of trade?"
Connor smiled. It was a small, tight smile that did not reach his eyes.
"I have a problem of my own," Connor lied smoothly. "I am dealing with a highly complex overseas asset trust audit. The board requires me to maintain a married status to mitigate certain legal risks and bypass a severe single-executive penalty. The auditors are breathing down my neck."
Kittie stared at him. The idea was insane. But the phone on the table buzzed again, vibrating against the wood like a warning siren.
She thought about the past due rent notices sitting on her counter. She thought about Dolores's sharp, cruel voice.
"This is crazy," Kittie breathed out.
Connor saw the hesitation in her eyes. He saw the desperation.
"Let us get out of here," Connor said, standing up. "Let us find somewhere quiet and talk about a real business arrangement."
Kittie looked at his outstretched hand. Her stomach did a nervous flip. She stood up, her legs feeling like lead, and followed him out the door.
