Page 169 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Because last night wasn’t fake for me, and I need to know if you’re trying to make it fake for yourself.

I say the safest truth.

“Because you didn’t look at me when you said goodbye.”

Her mouth parts.

For once, nothing comes out.

Bea, behind the counter, suddenly becomes very interested in napkins. She is not subtle. No one in Daisy’s life is subtle. Maybe subtle people avoid her for self-preservation.

“I wasn’t leaving because of what happened,” Daisy says quietly.

“I know.”

“Stop knowing things. It’s invasive.”

“No.”

Her mouth pulls at one corner.

Small.

Almost unwilling.

Mine.

No.

Not mine.

That’s the third problem.

Daisy looks down at the coffee. “I was leaving because if I stayed long enough for anyone to ask me how breakfast went, I was going to say something deeply illegal for a woman in front of strangers.”

“That bad?”

“That good,” she says, then winces. “Ignore that. Delete it. Pretend I said something elegant, like the muffins were memorable.”

“They were?”

“No. They were dry, but I ate two because my anxiety has never met a baked good it couldn’t emotionally overuse.”

“Day.”

“No.” She lifts one hand. “Please don’t use the voice.”

“What voice?”

“The voice that makes me want to answer honestly before I’ve had enough caffeine to build a legal defense.”

I lean back.

She exhales, like she expected me to push and hates that I didn’t.

Then she sets the saucer down and nudges it toward me.

“There,” she says. “Coffee. Black. Broody. Emotionally under-seasoned.”