Page 125 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“Yes.”

Her eyes lift to mine. “I mean it, Forrest.”

I raise my hands in surrender. “I know.”

“I’ll handle him.”

“I believe you.”

“That sounded almost supportive.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

She studies my face, looking for the part of me that wants to break something.

It is not hard to find.

Then she turns toward Liam and Carla with a smile so polished it makes my hands curl.

“Daisy,” Liam calls, crossing the gravel. “We heard you were in town.”

His voice is warm.

That’s the first thing I hate about him.

Not fake-warm either.

Practiced-warm.

“You look well,” he adds.

Daisy’s smile does not move. “So do you.”

Which is Daisy for: I hope your sock slides down inside your shoe during an important conversation.

Carla steps beside him, gaze moving from Daisy to me. “Daisy. Thank you so much for seeing us early.”

“Of course,” Daisy replies. “Nothing says restful Saturday like surprise bridal logistics before noon.”

Carla’s smile holds. “Your mother said it would be perfect.”

“My mother says a lot of things after coffee and before boundaries.”

Liam’s mouth twitches like he remembers her too well.

I hate that more.

Daisy opens her notebook. “I assume you’re here for a walkthrough?”

“Yes,” Carla says. “We were nearby.”

They were not nearby.

No one is nearby the vineyard by accident before noon on a Saturday unless they’re lost, drunk, or lying.

Carla looks at me again.

Daisy says, “This is Forrest.”