Page 23 of Fake it for Keeps

The memory hit me without warning, pulling me back to that night ten years ago. The night I’d sat on the beach until well past sunset, waiting for a boy who never came. I’d been seventeen and so stupidly in love, convinced that Colt Jesson was going to tell me something important. Something that would change everything.

Instead, I’d gotten nothing but silence and humiliation.

I’d driven home in tears, my heart feeling like it had been put through a shredder, my pride in tatters. The humiliation had been almost worse than the heartbreak.

Almost.

I’d found my dad that night in his workshop at the beach house, the same house I was now planning to restore. He’d been tinkering with his old motorcycle, grease on his hands and Led Zeppelin playing from a beat-up radio. When he’d seen me standing in the doorway with mascara running down my face, he’d dropped everything.

“Who do I need to kill?” he’d asked, only half-joking.

I told him everything. About Colt. About waiting on the beach. About feeling like the biggest fool in the world.

Dad had pulled me into a hug that smelled like motor oil and Old Spice, and then he’d done something unexpected. He’d grabbed his keys and taken me for a long ride down the coast, the motorcycle rumbling beneath us as we’d chased the wind.

“I ever tell you about my first heartbreak?” he’d asked over the wind.

I remember shaking my head and clinging to him.

“Her name was Michelle. Thought she was the one. Thought I’d marry her straight out of high school.” I could still hear the sound of his laughter. “She dumped me for a guy with a Camaro. Destroyed me. I thought I’d never get over it.”

“How long did it take?” I asked him.

“About six months. Maybe a year.” He glanced back at me, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “And then I met your mother, and I realized Michelle had done me the biggest favor of my life. Sometimes we have to get our hearts broken so we can find the person who’s actually meant for us.”

“What if there’s no one meant for me?” My voice had been so small, so broken.

“Then you’re meant for yourself,” he’d said firmly. “And that’s not a bad thing, Janie. Being whole on your own? That’s important whether you’re hitched or not.”

We had stopped at an overlook and watched the stars. He had promised me it would get better. That the embarrassment would fade. He told me I would look back on the moment someday and see it for what it was—just a blip in a long, beautiful life.

And he’d been right. Eventually, it had gotten better.

But I’d never forgotten that night. Never forgotten the way my insides had twisted with humiliation. The way I’d felt small and stupid and utterly disposable.

“Hallie?” Hallie’s voice pulled me back to the present. “You okay?”

I blinked, realizing I’d been staring at my wine glass for who knows how long. “Yeah. Sorry. Just remembering.”

“Your dad?” Mom asked gently.

“Yeah.” I smiled, even though my eyes were stinging. “He’d probably think this whole plan is insane.”

“Oh, he’d definitely think it’s insane,” Mom agreed. “But I also think he’d be cheering you on. You know how he was about people getting their comeuppance.”

I did know. Dad had believed in karma and justice. He always said the universe eventually set things right. And if the universe needed a little help? Well, he’d never been opposed to giving it a push.

“Colt Jesson is going down,” I said, raising my wine glass. “And Dad would be proud.”

“To revenge,” April said, clinking her glass against mine.

“To five hundred thousand dollars,” Hallie added.

“To being careful,” Mom said quietly, her glass joining ours. “And to coming out of this in one piece.”

We drank, and then the conversation shifted to logistics.

“So what happens now?” April asked. “When do you start fake-wifing?”