“Oi! Don’t bruise the pears, woman — Mam will skin me alive,” Gibsie called over his shoulder, already halfway down the narrow aisle of Nolan’s shop, hunting for the best strawberries in the whole village (which were never actually that good, but Mam swore by them anyway).

She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at his back, gently setting down the pears in the brown paper bag like she was handling glass. Gerard Gibson — big, broad, grinning fool since she was six years old — had been bossing her about fruit for as long as she could remember. And she still let him.

She was about to call after him to hurry up when he stormed back around the corner, punnet in hand, muttering under his breath.

She raised a brow. “Find the good ones?”

“Yeah, but not before bloody Mrs. Kearney had a word,” he grumbled, shoving the strawberries into her basket.

“Oh no. What scandal did you cause this time?” she teased, bumping his elbow.

Gibsie glared at her — well, tried to, but his ears were going red. “She asked if ‘my missus’ likes them sweet or sour.”

Her laugh echoed through the tiny shop. “Your missus?”

“Yeah — meaning you, apparently,” he grunted, pulling the strap of the basket higher on her shoulder like he always did when it slipped. “Every time we’re together, it’s the same feckin’ thing. Last week at the chippy, now this. Next thing you know, the priest’ll be askin’ when we’re bookin’ the bloody church.”

She snorted, eyes dancing as she leaned a little closer. “Well, you’re the idiot dragging me everywhere. What did you expect, big man?”

He paused, looking down at her — this girl he’d hauled out of trees, fought boys twice his size for, and threatened to marry when they were ten because she’d promised to share her chocolate bar forever.

Gibsie cleared his throat, cheeks pink. “I expect people to mind their damn business is what I expect.”

She bit her lip, hiding a smile. “Relax, Gerard. Let them think what they want. We know the truth, don’t we?”

He huffed a laugh, ruffling her hair so she squeaked and swatted him away. “Yeah, yeah. Come on then — Mam’ll kill me if we’re late back with her fancy fruit.”

She fell into step beside him, close enough their shoulders brushed with every step. Neither of them said a word about how it felt.

And behind the counter, Mrs. Kearney watched them go with a knowing smile.