Chapter 11 #2
With everything that’s happened with Georgie and my mom, the trip totally slipped my mind.
I’ll have to find time to do it sometime this week.
“You’re right.” But even as the words leave my mouth, my stomach knots.
The idea of more people knowing the truth—that everything between me and Anderson is staged—makes my anxiety spike.
Then again, lying to the people I trust most feels just as bad.
We’re going to be spending four days together, sharing meals and rides—hotel rooms—and most of our plans are together.
They’re going to ask questions. They’re going to watch us. They’re going to notice every hesitation, every missed detail, every look that lasts a second too long or not long enough.
Keeping our stories straight already feels impossible, and we haven’t even established what they are yet.
And now with Georgie staying with me, I don’t know if I’m even going to be able to go.
“Maybe we should just tell them the truth,” I finally say, defeated.
I don’t know how much more I can put on my plate.
It feels like my life has turned into a constant balancing act—arms out, toes curled over the edge, making sure everyone else stays steady while I’m barely keeping myself upright.
And lately, it feels like everything I’m holding is starting to sway.
My footing is slipping, and all of it is threatening to topple over, no matter how hard I try to hold it together.
“Or,” Anderson offers, stretching out the word.
My head snaps up. “I like ‘or’”. I don’t even try to hide my desperation for a solution—one I don’t have to come up with all on my own.
“We can tell them we wanted to keep things a secret until they got serious,” Anderson explains, reiterating the one and only thing we have figured out right now. “I think that is the only explanation that won’t raise too much suspicion, especially from Rumi and Emerson.”
Nodding, I let his words sink in. He does have a point.
When I don’t say anything, he continues, “And we can tell them that with Georgie and you deciding to adopt her, we figured now was the time we finally told everyone because I’ll be helping you with all the CPS stuff.”
I roll my bottom lip between my teeth, feeling like a plan is finally starting to come together.
“Rumi and Emerson both know about my decision to try and adopt Georgie, and they’ve been supportive,” I say, more to myself as I try to get my thoughts about all of this straight.
“And we could tell them that we’re getting married because of the adoption case.
That will probably distract them enough from the fact that I supposedly kept you a secret for the last eight months. ”
Honestly, it’s all pretty believable, especially if you factor in how busy all of us have been these last few months.
Plus, Rumi and Emerson know how I have been against relationships since Jett, so they’ll probably believe I didn’t want to tell them until I was absolutely sure about Anderson and our relationship.
And with the sprinkle of truth in there about Georgie and getting married to help convince CPS I’m stable enough to be her guardian, it makes me feel like we aren’t telling them lie after lie after lie.
“We’ll just need to convince them that not only are we together but have been since last summer,” Anderson explains.
I cross my arms over my chest, cocking my head to the side. “Do you put on these types of acts often?”
“Not since my soap opera got canceled.” Anderson quips, letting out a dramatic exhale.
“Aw, bummer,” I feign sincerity. “Is that why you went into firefighting?”
“Turns out I can’t mind my business when things are on fire.”
“That can’t be good for the hero complex.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “My therapist has been on me about figuring out a healthier way to direct my pathological need to take care of the people around me. It’s either being a firefighter or rescuing people off the clock, and I’m sure she’d tell me that isn’t a ‘healthy boundary’.”
A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. The exchange is quick and light, but I think it holds more truth than he’s letting on—truth I needed to hear myself, from someone who gets what it’s like to give so much of yourself to others, barely having enough of you left for you.
I clear my throat. “Anyway,” I start, drawing out the word, “how do we plan on selling this? They’ll be wondering how we kept this a secret from them for so long, and we’ll need to keep our stories straight while also putting on a believable act, not to mention CPS and their investigation into Georgie’s case and then the adoption process.
There will be meetings and interviews and home studies and—”
“Ava?” Anderson interrupts.
“What?”
“You’re spiraling.”
The observation—and his outright calling me out—stuns me for a moment. “No, I’m not.” My voice cracks on the last word. Clearing my throat, I add, “I’m planning.”
“That’s just spiraling with a clipboard.”
I roll my eyes. “You need to take this seriously. I can’t fuck this up, Anderson.
Not if I want them to give me Georgie.” The vulnerability I offer should make me uncomfortable, and I wait for the uneasiness, the anxiety, the compulsion to come—but it doesn’t.
Instead, its absence leaves an aching, longing feeling—like I should do this more often.
“Hey.” Anderson reaches for me. Putting his warm, calloused hand on my thigh, and even through the fabric of my pants, the touch gives me goosebumps.
This is the second time I’ve felt his hand on my leg, and it has me starting to forget why I have been keeping him at arm’s length.
“We can do this, Ava. You’re safe with me. I promise.”
The words land more heavily than they should.
I still don’t know why he came over tonight, and, for a moment, I think about asking.
But then I remember how complicated this all already is, and I decide against it.
“Yeah,” I say, trying for nonchalance, the uneasiness I was anticipating hits me all at once.
I stand up, and his hand drops from my leg, finally allowing me to collect my bearings.
I tuck my hair behind my ears just for a few shorter curls to immediately escape.
“You say that like you’re very sure of yourself. ”
“Someone has to be.”
I raise a brow to hide the way my stomach does an annoying little flip. “Anderson,” I say carefully, “if we do this, we really have to commit. No half-assing. No backing out.”
His lips curl in a lazy smile. “Smitten looks happen naturally. I just won’t fight them like I usually do,” he jokes.
I snort. “Down, boy.” I stick my hands in my front pockets just to do something with them. “No need to waste the flirting on me when it’s just the two of us. Let’s wait until we have an audience.”
The apples of his cheeks pinken as he coughs into his fist. “Just practicing,” he answers, and even though I don’t know what got him all flustered, I find myself wanting to see how much more color I can get in those cheeks.
I close some of the distance between us, our height difference reversed, as he’s still seated. His legs are open, and I’m tempted to step into them. Batting my eyelashes, I ask in a low voice, “But what if I’m too good at it?”
He blinks. “Too good?”
“Yeah. Like, what if you actually end up falling in love with me?”
His face turns bright red. “Then we win?”
I let out a dramatic sigh. “Don’t you know the number one rule about fake marriages?”
He shakes his head, lips slightly parted.
“Don’t fall in love.” I offer.
Anderson’s eyes widen. “We won’t,” he says, a little too quickly, and I didn’t think his face could get any redder, but somehow it does.
There’s a beat where neither of us looks away before the corner of his mouth lifts, a hand going to the back of his neck as he shyly mutters.
“I thought you said no flirting without an audience.”
“Just practicing.” I roll my lips together to hide my growing smile.
“So, are we telling them we’ve been together since the drive-in?” Anderson asks, getting us back on track, but I think he just wants to change the subject before I get him all hot and bothered again.
I nod. “I think that’s believable.” Emerson and Rumi know about the night I went to see my ex a few weeks after the drive-in. That would be the only thing that might make them suspicious of our story, but I doubt it will ever come up.
I never told them that I didn’t even make it to his house—didn’t even see him and immediately blocked his number again before heading home, only to find firetrucks surrounding the house I shared with my best friend and her daughter.
Rumi was right when she tried to stop me when I told her I was going to go see him, and I wish I had realized it sooner—that getting closure, or whatever the fuck I thought I was doing, was stupid and was really just me freaking out about the feelings I was having for Anderson.
I felt myself starting to wonder what could happen with him, and I needed the reminder that we could never be more than a quick escape from reality.
And now, even that can’t happen anymore.
“Okay,” Anderson says, rubbing the palm of his hand over his mouth. “And we are finally telling them about us because things are getting serious, and because of everything that happened with Georgie and CPS?”
Nodding, I add, “And, because of the stuff with Georgie, we’re getting married because your job, your house, and the marriage will show CPS that I’m capable of being her guardian.”
“We.”
“What?” I heard him, but my brain doesn’t fully register the word.
“That we are capable. We have to convince everyone we’re in this together, right?”
A moment of silence passes, that steady gaze watching me with such care, and my throat grows thick at the thought of not having to do this all alone—even if it is just temporary.
When I realize I haven’t said anything, I nod my head, just as Anderson clears his throat, opting to change the subject. “When do you want to make it official?” he asks.
I exhale, letting those thoughts go as quickly as they came.
“As soon as possible,” I answer. The thought that this is the least romantic way to be proposed to runs through my head, and I want to slap myself across the face for even having it.
“The sooner we get our marriage certificate to Patricia, the sooner the adoption can be on its way to being approved, and CPS can leave us alone.” I look over my shoulder at my closed bedroom door, where Georgie is probably playing on my iPad under the covers rather than going to sleep as she should be.
The thought has me smiling as I remind myself that I will do anything to make sure Georgie stays with me.
It’s me and her.
That’s what matters.
“And the sooner we can get divorced.” I don’t know how I’ll ever repay Anderson for this—putting his life on hold to help hold mine together. The least I can do is make sure the process goes as quickly as possible, so he can move on and find the person he can actually settle down with.
My stomach twists at the thought, but I ignore it.
When I look back at Anderson, there’s a flash of disappointment—his eyes clouding, his mouth thinning—but it’s gone so fast I think I imagined it.
He rubs his hands up and down the fabric of his jeans, letting our insane plan sink in, and I pray to the gods I don’t believe in that he’s not trying to come up with a way to tell me he’s changed his mind.
“Think you can handle this?” I ask, feeling the tingle in my palms, the irritation on my skin, the need to count the tiles on my kitchen floor. He raises a brow, so I gesture between us. “Marrying me? Sticking with me until CPS leaves us alone?”
A moment beats, and my thoughts begin to swirl, convincing me that he’s about to say fuck this and leave.
But then he stands to his full height, holding my eyes hostage as he does.
The smell of his spicy scent overwhelms me until it’s all I can focus on, my thoughts blurring until they’re erased altogether—and I barely register the words he whispers just inches from my lips. “I can handle anything you need me to, love.”