Page 77 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Then I underline it twice because I am a woman who respects structure, even when the structure is built over a sinkhole.

“Rule one.” I scribble. “No grunting.”

His eyes narrow.

“That’s not a rule.”

“You’re right. It’s unfair when you mostly communicate through grunts.” I cross it out. “Fine. No excessive grunting. I’m a generous negotiator.”

“I’m not signing that.”

“You haven’t been offered signing privileges yet.” I tap the page. “What do you want, rule maker?”

He clears his throat. “No kissing.”

“No kissing ever?” I ask.

“Yep.”

I shake my head. “That won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“Because if we’re fake dating in Winterberry Cove during a wedding week and a community dinner, someone will expect kissing.”

“Who?”

“Everyone. Mothers. Aunts. Carla’s bridesmaids. Possibly the pumpkins.”

“Pumpkins don’t expect kisses.”

“Decorative pumpkins absolutely do. They’re judgmental by nature.”

“Fine.” He exhales. “No kissing unless necessary.”

I write:

Rule One: No kissing unless absolutely necessary.

Then I add: Definition of necessary pending.

“Cross it out,” he says.

“No. This is how contracts work.”

“It’s not a contract.”

“It is now. I’m using ink.”

He looks toward Bea. “Do you have wine?”

“It’s a café,” Bea calls without looking over.

“Whiskey?”

“Tea,” Bea offers.

“You should get a liquor license,” he mutters.