Page 17 of A Perfect Fit

I stop in my tracks. “You mean, like a date?”

“I mean, a fake boyfriend.”

My mind starts buzzing. Showing up with a fake boyfriend isn’t a bad idea, even if it’d involve a little pretending and deceiving. I’d be lying if I said the prospect of showing Oliver that I’d moved on with someone else wasn’t appealing.

But where does one find a fake boyfriend?

“It’s tempting, but I don’t have anyone I can ask,” I admit. “And you can’t exactly buy a fake boyfriend online or find someone random off the streets.”

“Who says you can’t?” Jen says before turning to the guy at the booth next to ours, who’s selling vintage items. “Hey! Guy with the glasses and blue shirt!”

Said guy turns around to face us. He’s cute—dark hair and blue eyes—and he reminds me of Clark Kent. “Yeah?”

Jen smiles at him and gestures to me. “Are you available to be her fake boyfriend for one night?”

Clark Kent look-alike frowns. “What’s in it for me?”

“Um … free food at a high school reunion?” Jen suggests.

He cocks a brow. “A high school reunion? I’ll save myself the drama, thanks.”

“Who says there has to be drama?” Jen says, crossing her arms. “We’re all a lovely bunch of people. Well, most of us, that is.”

He shrugs. “Sorry, ladies. I’ll pass.”

At least he’s being honest. On to the next stranger, I suppose.

“It was worth a try,” Jen says, turning back to me. “On a separate note, I have a feeling Aaron will be at the reunion.”

I haven’t forgotten about Jen’s crush on Aaron during our school years. Unlike Jackson, Aaron actually has a great personality.

“You don’t have to wait for a high school reunion to see him again,” I say. “You could slide into his DMs right now. I believe he’s still single.”

Jen pulls a face. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Just go for it, like how you called out the glasses guy just then,” I tease.

“That was different because he’s just a stranger.” Jen sighs. “Anyway, I’m going to buy some lunch. Do you want anything?”

“Yes, please,” I say, grinning. “I’m starving.”

“Grilled fish tacos?”

“Even bigger yes!”

As Jen walks off, I tidy things up at my booth and check the dresses on my clothes rack. The sun shines brightly above me as I work, the crisp smells of pizza and hot dogs drifting in the air.

A sudden giggling voice emanates from nearby, and a brunette girl in a yellow dress, who looks eight or nine years old, approaches me.

“Hey there.” I smile at her. “Are you with anyone?”

“I’m with my uncle, but I ran off because your booth is too pretty,” she says. She eyes me up and down. “You’re pretty, too. Are you a fashion designer?”

My heart’s bursting. “Aw, thank you. You’re beautiful, too. And, yes, I’m a fashion designer.”

She beams. “I want to be a fashion designer when I grow up, too!”

“Well, you have a fabulous sense of style,” I say. “I love your dress.”