Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
I swallow, pushing down my feelings far, far away. “I don’t want to hurt the people I care about. But I do want to give you a ride home.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I do.”
She gathers up her stuff and walks with me to my car. I’m just being a good fake boyfriend. That’s all.
The drive is quiet. We’re never quiet. But neither one of us seems to have anything to say as I cruise through the foggy night. When we reach her porch, mist still curling around us, she gives me a resigned smile. “Thanks again for understanding. I don’t want to mess things up for my sister, for work, for everything. You know?”
Right. The fake romance needs to be airtight.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” I lie, smoothly. Because I’m sure as hell not going to tell her that I can’t stop thinking about her.
I’m a good fake boyfriend too the next morning when I show up at Little Friends and pose for a picture with a frosty-faced old Papillon mix with wise eyes, big ears, tufted paws, and one tooth. Judy looks at me like she can tell why I’m here.
To impress a woman.
But she’s not going to rat me out.
“Smile, Lake Onion,” Miller calls out in between giving hugs to a Malinois mix that seems to have his number.
I try to smile with Judy. Maybe I even manage a hint of one. But I’m pretty sure it doesn’t reach my eyes.
30
CAT DADDY AD
REMY
When Caroline arrives at my door five minutes before Lake is due to pick me up, I know she’s feeling better by the pace of the knocking. Strong, rapid, but not five-alarm fire level. Still, you can’t ever be too cautious, so I shout that I’ll be right there then dart into the kitchen, yank open a drawer, and grab a hospital mask. I pull it on and open the door.
She tilts her head and gives me a c’mon look. “Are you serious?”
“It was only three days ago when you were on death’s door.”
“I was not on death’s door. I was just too sick to make out on camera with my husband-to-be.”
I shrug. “Sounded like death’s door to me.”
“I’m feeling so much better. I did the floral mockup yesterday with Margot, thank you very much. And I was even at work today. I hosted my show.”
“Well, I hope you were generous with your employees and handed out masks for them too. Or mind vises perhaps. That would be a great wedding favor for your guests.”
She parks her right hand on her hip. Her left holds a red canvas bag. “I’ll have you know I have a clean bill of health.”
“And as far as I’m concerned, you can never be too safe,” I say, holding my germaphobe ground. “Seeing as I have to get on the road with a hockey player, I can’t be responsible for making him sick. What if the team loses because he can’t play?”
“You’re seriously ridiculous.” Rolling her eyes, she thrusts the red bag my way.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a reusable bag. You use it to pick up the candy. You put it in the bag and voila.”
I shoot her a challenging stare. “I know,” I say. When she learned I was heading to Evergreen Falls, she asked me to swing by a specialty candy shop there to pick up the wedding favors in person. One less thing to ship is less of an eco footprint, and we’re both all for that. “But I have my own reusable bags.”
“Well, you can’t be too safe,” she says with a smirk.
She turns to leave, then stops and must think better of it because she turns around. “You and Lake are traveling together. Things are moving…quickly with him?”
I tense at that word, the implied judgment in it.
She holds up a stop-sign hand. “That’s not a bad thing. It’s nice that things are moving quickly. You seem happy. This thing with him is promising?”
Her voice pitches up with hope, and my gut twists so hard, as if someone is squeezing it like a washcloth. “It’s just a rebound. That’s all it’s going to be,” I say, squashing that hope.
She won’t be vanquished. “You never know. Love doesn’t always happen on your schedule. And there’s no mandatory time period for moving on. You get over someone when you get over them, and good for you.”
“Caroline,” I warn.
But she’s already in go mode. “And just in case the rebounding is going super well,” she says, then dips her hand into the pocket of her crisp, perfectly pressed slacks. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Lake turning the corner, walking down the path to my little porch while my sister pulls out a sleeve of condoms.
Tension shoots sky-high in me. “Caroline!”
My cheeks redden.
As Lake heads up the steps, Caroline swivels around. “Oh! This is perfect.”