Page 35 of Fake it for Keeps

12

HALLIE

The ocean stretched endlessly before me, dark and mysterious under the night sky. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, trying to ward off the cold wind. The yacht cut through the water with barely a sound, its engines a low hum beneath my feet.

This was surreal. All of it.

Two weeks ago, I’d been cutting hair at the salon, worrying about making rent, dreaming about someday having enough money to fix up my dad’s beach house. Now I was standing on a yacht that probably cost more than most people made in a lifetime, wearing clothes I could never afford, pretending to be engaged to a man I’d once loved and now couldn’t stand.

It was a lot. I had to get away from him and just process everything.

My mind was all over the place. I was excited. Sad. Irritated. I couldn’t seem to get a real grip on my emotions.

“Mind if I join you?”

I turned to find Frankie approaching, bundled in a thick coat that looked both practical and expensive. She had two mugs in her hands, steam rising from both.

“Please,” I said, grateful for the company.

She handed me one of the mugs. Hot chocolate, I discovered when I took a sip. Real hot chocolate, the kind made with actual melted chocolate instead of powder from a packet.

Of course.

“You okay?” Frankie asked, leaning against the railing beside me.

“Yeah. Just taking it all in.” I gestured at the yacht, the ocean, the whole ridiculous situation. “This is a lot.”

“I can imagine.” She took a sip from her own mug. “Colt’s world can be overwhelming. Trust me, I grew up in it, and I still find it exhausting sometimes.”

“It’s so beautiful out here,” I said with a sigh. “I’ve never been out on the ocean at night.”

“Does it scare you?” she asked.

“Scare me?”

“The ocean is huge. At night it’s so intimidating. I’m not sure I’m a fan.”

I smiled. “No. It’s not scary. I’ve always loved the ocean. My dad used to take me to our beach house in the Hamptons every summer. We’d spend hours just sitting on the porch, watching the waves. It was simple. Peaceful.” I looked around at the yacht’s gleaming surfaces, the perfectly arranged furniture, the crew moving silently like ghosts. “This is not that.”

“No,” Frankie agreed. “This is Colt showing off. Making sure everything is perfect and expensive and impressive.”

“Mission accomplished, I guess.” I took another sip of hot chocolate, letting the warmth seep into my cold hands. “The beach house—my dad’s house—it’s not fancy. Just a simple three-bedroom place. Needs a lot of work. The paint’s peeling, the porch is half-rotted, the plumbing is temperamental at best.”

“Your dad lives there full time?”

I suppressed the little sob that always tried to come out when someone asked me about my father. “No. He passed away. I inherited the house.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Do you visit the house often?”

“Not as much as I would like. It’s where all my best memories of my dad are. Where he taught me to fish, even though I was terrible at it. He would make his famous pancakes that were somehow always burned on one side. I can still see him sitting on the porch with his coffee and his crossword puzzle every morning.”

I could see it so clearly in my mind. Dad in his rocking chair, reading glasses perched on his nose, pencil tucked behind his ear. The sound of the ocean mixing with the creak of the chair. The smell of salt air and coffee.

I inhaled, smelling the familiar scent of the sea and just took a moment to revel in the memories the smell evoked.

“I want to restore it,” I continued. “Make it beautiful again. Not fancy. It’ll never be fancy. But comfortable. Somewhere I can take my kids someday. Somewhere they can make their own memories.”

Frankie nodded. “That’s what you’re doing this for? The beach house?”