Page 6 of Never Enough

Her phone buzzes again.

She exhales. Long. Slow.

“This is temporary,” she says. “You understand that, right?”

I nod.

I understand that she thinks that.

“Obviously,” I agree.

chapter

three

Gracie

I blow out a breath and stare through the windshield like it will somehow make the last half hour make any sense. It doesn't. It's just glass and a smear of bug guts that Henry hasn't bothered to clean off. There's also a crack in the lower right corner that's been there since I've known him, slowly spider-webbing its way toward the center with patient inevitability. Right now, it’s feeling like a metaphor for my entire life.

Drama, much?

“Okay. But what are we actually telling them?”

Henry pulls out of the parking lot, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh like we're discussing weekend plans and not the elaborate web of lies we're about to spin for his entire family. The truck smells like leather and dust and that particular sun-baked warmth that all Texas vehicles develop by April—a scent I've been riding shotgun to since I was sixteen and Kelsie's older brother was the only one with a license and a willingness to drive us to the Dairy Queen in the next town over.

He looks calm. Relaxed, even. One wrist draped over the top of the steering wheel, shoulders loose, jaw unclenched. Like a man on a Sunday drive, not a man who just told a bakery full of people that I'm his wife and then kissed me in front of the pastry case.

Which feels deeply, profoundly unfair.

Because, let’s be honest, there was a time when I fantasized about Henry kissing me senseless. Once upon a time, when were teens, when he was the handsome older brother of my best friend, I imagined hundreds of scenarios in which Henry realized I was there all along and he’d sweep me into his arms and profess his undying devotion.

Kelsie has been one of my best friends since the first grade. I spent most of my childhood at their sprawling ranch outside of town. The Blakenships own half the county. Maybe more. Everyone knows they’re crazy rich, but they never act like it’s a big deal. Instead, they have always opened their home to any and all of their five kids’ friends. Which is undoubtedly how I ended up nursing a crush on Henry for so long.

I put the brakes on those after he rejected me so many years ago. At least, I stopped acknowledging them. They still pop up, unannounced and unwanted, all these years later. But who can blame me? Henry Blankenship is a goddamn snack.

Tall and impossibly broad with the kind of body hewn from actual manual labor rather than the sculpted perfection crafted in a gym. His blue eyes mimic that of the expansive Texas sky, which makes gazing up at that wide open space a constant reminder of his stupid, handsome face.

I sneak a peek at his profile. Yep, he’s totally relaxed. His jawline isn’t even tense. I, meanwhile, am sweating in places I didn't know could sweat. The backs of my knees, for instance. Who sweats behind their knees? Apparently, women who've been proposed to by their ex-boyfriend and claimed by their fake husband in the span of four minutes. That's who.

“We use Halloween,” he says.

I turn toward him. At this point, I’ve completely forgotten that I asked him a question. “Halloween?”

“The night in Ace's. You were wearing a wedding dress, if you recall.”

Oh, right, we’re talking about how to explain our spontaneous marriage.

“We were all wearing wedding gowns. It was a Halloween costume. Well, except for Caroline’s.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Only noticed your dress.”

I blink, but get back to our discussion, refusing to overanalyze that comment. “You bellowed my name like a lunatic and pulled me out of the bar like the devil himself was on your heels?”

He flicks me a glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I had something to say.”

“That's beside the point.

“That's exactly the point,” he counters, voice maddeningly even. “Everyone remembers that night. Kelsie still asks me about it.”