Page 20 of Fake it ’Til Fall

This time it lasts longer.

Not a smile exactly. Forrest does not give out smiles. He releases them on parole.

I take another bite and pretend I don’t feel it all the way down. The food. His attention. The ridiculous tenderness of being fed without being asked whether I deserve it first.

The wedding can wait three minutes.

My mother can wait.

Carla’s aisle runner can suffer without me.

For once, I let myself stand still in the warm café with a sandwich in my hand, mustard on my sleeve, and a man I do not adore looking at me like he sees the lie and has decided not to expose it.

Which is rude.

Kind.

Dangerous.

And absolutely not something I have time to survive.

Chapter Three

Daisy

I take another bite, because apparently this is who I am now. A woman eating a sandwich in front of a Wolfcraft while pretending eye contact isn’t a gateway drug.

Forrest watches me for half a second too long.

“What?” I ask around the bite, which is unfortunate for my dignity and, frankly, for everyone’s relationship with turkey.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me. You have a face.”

“I always have a face.”

“You have a commentary face.”

His gaze drops to the sandwich, then back to me. “You’re getting crumbs on Puck.”

I look down.

Puck is, in fact, sitting beneath me with the solemn focus of a monk receiving communion.

“He volunteered as tribute.”

“He has no standards.”

“Take that back,” I say, mostly because if I don’t start bickering again, I might do something catastrophic like feel grateful.

Forrest turns one page without looking sorry. “No.”

“This is why your reading life is in such a devastating condition.”

“My reading life is private.”

“Your reading life is a cry for help. Last week you read a coaching manual with no cover appeal and no emotional arc.”