Page 72 of Seale the Deal

I’m going to go camping tonight.

I’ve never had a burning desire to go camping. The idea of bugs, bears, freezing my ass off in a tent, and no access to hot water gives me a full-body itch. But Ruger out in the woods, all alone? Ruger away from me?

I hate it more than I want to admit.

My thumbs hover over the keyboard. He hasn’t responded since I said, Be safe. What I really wanted to say was, Don’t go. But he doesn’t owe me anything. If getting away for a night is what he wants, I can’t hold him back from that. I’m already asking so much of him with this fake engagement. I can’t ask him for more. So instead, I press the side button and tuck my phone face down on the worktable.

You okay?

I blink and look up to see Audrey standing across from me, her brow creased, a shirt draped over her arm.

Yeah, of course, I lie. My voice sounds too bright, like someone trying to sell a used car they know has no brakes.

She doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push it either.

I clear my throat. Whatcha got there?

She just holds out the shirt. I’ve got another piece from the school. Some of the buttonholes need to be redone.

I take the garment from her, fingers already assessing the damage before it’s even fully in my hands. I examine the loose threads and blown-out holes. The fabric is thin, the grain warped from repeated washings and whatever school-play chaos it’s already endured. The topstitching is crooked, like it was sewed in a rush with too much foot pressure and a dull needle. I run my fingertips over the buttonholes. Some are torn; others sag open like yawning mouths.

I give a half smile. This poor shirt’s seen some things.

Audrey laughs lightly. High school boys. It’s a miracle there isn’t more damage.

I reach for my tailor’s chalk and make a few light marks where I’ll reinforce and recut holes. I then fold the shirt neatly and set it on top of my growing mountain of projects. I don’t mind the work. It gives me the chance to get lost and not think about everything else that’s going on. If anything, I wish the pile were high enough that I could just lose myself in work until my green card comes.

Audrey tilts her head, watching me. You sure you’re okay?

I feel something inside me pull taut, like thread caught in a tension disc, one tug away from snapping.

I want to talk about it. I want to say, No. I’m not. I’m a mess because my fake fiancé is living rent-free in my head. And he’s going to the woods. Alone. In the dark. With bears. But I can’t. I’m not supposed to feel this way.

I’m sure, I say, giving Audrey a smile that I hope reads as sincere. I point at my workstation. I got the rest from here. You can head out to the front if you want.

She gives me a long look but finally nods.

Okay, just let me know if you need anything.

I wait until her footsteps retreat down the hallway before I let my shoulders sag.

I look at the wool coat on my workstation. It’s the same one Audrey was working on when I first came in here, only much further along now. The lining of the wool coat is pinned and ready, the silk catching on the calluses at the tips of my fingers as I pull it into my lap. I smooth it out and settle into my chair. I start with the back panel, easing the lining into the opening where the sleeve will be attached with careful, even stitches. My needle slides through the wool and silk with ease. I let the rhythm of it settle me. In, pull. Out, glide. In, pull. It’s easier to focus on the work than the ache that’s forming inside at the thought of going back to Ruger’s house and him being gone.

My stitch slips, and I mutter a soft curse. I tug the thread back, undoing the mistake and trying again. Here I am, wishing I could bury myself in work, and even the work isn’t enough to keep my mind off him.

I knot the end of the thread and start on the side seam, easing the line to meet the curve of the wool. It puckers, just slightly, and I redo it again. And again. I refuse to force it. It’ll never lie flat if it’s stretched into place. That’s the thing with seams that are pulled too tight. From a distance, they look passable, but up close you see the strain. Maybe it’s the same with this fake engagement. We’ve stretched the truth until it works, but all we’ve really done is add tension. At least on my side.

It’s becoming more apparent that I’m starting to feel differently toward Ruger. Falling for him doesn’t just put my heart on the line. It put my friendship with Remi there too. If he doesn’t feel the same, every invitation to something he might attend will become an unspoken question of whether I should be there or not. I never want her to feel like she has to choose between me and her brother because of what? A silly little crush? Some unrequited attraction? I can’t do that to her. To us.

A few hours later, the coat is coming together, the lining taking shape. I knot the thread again and look at the time. It’s almost four. With a sigh, I set the coat aside and start tidying up my station.

By the time I make it to the front, Audrey’s already shrugging into her coat.

You ready to head to Remi’s? she asks, pulling a knit hat over her curls.

Yep, I say, pasting on my most convincing everything’s fine smile.

We can take my car, Audrey says, like there’s any other option than walking.