Page 171 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“You can’t have a third job.”

“It wouldn’t be a job. It would be . . .” Daisy waves a hand, searching for a word that won’t incriminate her. “A civic intervention with snacks. I doubt anyone would pay me.”

“It would be unpaid labor with a guilt garnish,” Bea says.

“That is a very cynical description of community impact.”

“That is a very nonprofit way to say you’re about to exhaust yourself for children and spreadsheets.”

Puck chooses that moment to step fully into the back room.

Of course he does. His nails click against the floor, and both women turn.

Bea sees him first.

Then me.

Her eyes narrow like she has just found a raccoon in a cardigan.

Daisy follows Bea’s gaze.

The notebook goes straight to her chest.

“How much of that did you hear?” she asks.

“Enough.”

“Specific and terrifying.”

I nod toward the notebook. “Can I see it?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Bea replies.

Daisy turns on her. “You’re a terrible supporter.”

“I’m effective.” Bea takes the empty syrup bottles from Daisy’s arm. “I have to go prevent a man from using the phrase ‘pre-owned books’ again.”

Daisy blinks. “That sounds fake.”

“Unfortunately, it is real.” Bea pauses beside me and points one finger at my chest. “Don’t be weird.”

“You’re accusing me of being weird?”

She gives me a look. “Both of you. Seriously. It’s getting scary. So what if you broke the rules?”

Daisy’s chin lifts. “Only some of them.”

“Yeah, because a couple were broken before you started this fake thing.”

“They were not,” Daisy protests.

“Which ones?” I ask at the same time Daisy says, “You’re wrong.”

Bea stares at us.

Then she leaves, carrying the bottles and shaking her head as if our emotional incompetence has become a workplace hazard.