Page 102 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Forrest: I’ve chosen to disown her. She used the word “organic.”

Daisy: I’m so sorry.

Forrest: Four times.

Daisy: Was one of them about produce?

Forrest: No.

Daisy: Then we’re both doomed.

Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

This is the most emotionally expressive thing Forrest Wolfcraft does, and I have started to find the little gray bubbles unbearably suspenseful, like a man clearing his throat before saying something he will regret.

Forrest: She wants a photo.

Daisy: I’m aware. I’ve been assigned a vibe.

Forrest: A what?

Daisy: A vibe. Apparently I am “effortlessly thriving with a quiet, grumpy man who would die for her but won’t say so out loud.”

Forrest: That’s not a vibe. That’s a hostage situation.

I can’t help but laugh out loud.

Daisy: Here’s the actual problem. The Turning Page is off the table.

Forrest: Yes.

Daisy: Which means we need a public sighting somewhere that ISN’T the one place we actually know how to be around each other. Somewhere believable. Somewhere a person could plausibly stumble across us and report back that we looked natural.

Forrest: Define natural.

Daisy: Like we like each other.

Forrest: That’s the hard part.

Daisy: Rude.

Forrest: You started it.

I did start it.

I will not be admitting that.

The thing is, I’ve been turning the logistics over since six this morning, which is roughly the same time my brain decided sleep was a luxury reserved for people whose lives haven’t been hijacked by a fake relationship and a sister-in-law with a vision board.

Every romantic location I think of makes my skin crawl. A cozy café? Too obvious. A pumpkin patch? Winnifred would weep with joy and I would rather be buried in one. A nice restaurant? We’d look like two people on a first date who had recently survived a hostage negotiation, which, to be fair, is accurate.

The problem with romance is that it photographs as a lie unless it’s already true.

So, I do the thing I do when a plan refuses to behave.

I make it boring.

Daisy: What if it’s somewhere unromantic? So unromantic that the only explanation for us being there together is that we’re actually a couple doing actual couple things.