Page 83 of Fall Fake-Out

Lady love? It’s my least favorite term of endearment yet.

“September twenty-third!” the man gasps. “That’s next week.”

“Exactly. Cutting it close, but she nearly bankrupted us with the centerpiece budget.”

The worker looks genuinely sympathetic. “Those flowers will get you every time.”

“Taxidermy,” I interject, not letting Wade have all the fun. “My fiancé requested real, stuffed squirrels for the centerpieces, so I just had to accommodate him. Isn’t that what love is about?”

The man blinks back at Wade, unsure what to say about stuffed squirrel centerpieces. “Should we get the pallets?”

“Yeah.” Wade’s head drops, and for the first time ever, I think I’ve finally embarrassed him.

“Stuffed squirrels?” Wade scoffs. “Why couldn’t you have said a more manly animal like a stuffed lion or bear or something?”

“Yeah, because the man would believe that we would have stuffed lions in the center of all of our tables at our wedding.”

“And you think he believed squirrels?”

“I think he did.”

We’re halfway home when the truck lurches slightly. Wade’s expression changes instantly, and he guides the car onto the shoulder.

“What happened?”

“Flat tire.”

I immediately pull out my phone. “My dad pays for Triple A for me because, one time, Andy and I got a flat tire, and neither of us had a clue how to change it. It was a whole ordeal.”

Wade gives me a look. “We’re not calling Triple A.”

“Why not?”

“Because real Vermont men change their own tires.” He climbs out.

I follow. “Wade, I have the app open right here.”

“We’re not waiting an hour for somebody to do something I can do in ten minutes.”

I cross my arms. “Have you ever changed a tire before, or do I need to pull up a YouTube video?”

He walks around to the truck bed and opens the silver tool chest. “Are you serious right now?”

“I was just making sure.”

Then, without warning, Wade grabs the hem of his white t-shirt and pulls it over his head.

I panic. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to get my shirt dirty.” He smirks. “Is that okay with you?”

“Pfft.” I shrug. “Yeah, I don’t care.”

Oh, but I do care. Immensely.

He tosses his shirt into the truck, completely oblivious to my gawking. There’s no showing off or flexing. He’s too busy gathering tools.

At first, it’s just broad shoulders. The rest is hidden behind the truck bed, but then he walks around the back of the vehicle, and there’s entirely too much Wade Stevenson in my eyesight. Back muscles. Arm muscles. A chest that has absolutely no business belonging to a high school principal.