Chapter 9 #2
He shrugs. “She said she’s happy for me, and she can’t wait to meet you, and that was pretty much it.”
I nod. “I guess that’s good? I wish you didn’t have to lie to her.”
He winces the slightest bit. “Yeah. Me too. But she’s too much of a talker. If she knew the truth, she’d definitely tell someone, even if just accidentally.”
“Sounds like Anna’s mom,” I say. “She told the entire neighborhood Anna was pregnant with Olive before she’d had the chance to tell Miles.
He was on the road, and she wanted to tell him in person, but then they went to a block party and her mom said something about a double stroller, and everyone figured it out. ”
“Exactly the kind of thing my mom would do,” Carter says. “Nothing malicious. Just…”
“Misdirected excitement?” I say, and he nods.
“Yes. Perfect description. Or misdirected concern.”
I feel my shoulders drop the slightest bit. I hate to think of his mom being concerned. But there’s no way around it. She would be if she knew the truth.
Fortunately, Anna returns, phone in hand, sparing us from continuing our conversation. I pick up my wine glass and drain the rest of it, and Carter does the same. When he puts down his glass, he holds out his hand. “Ready to do this?”
I slip my fingers into his. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Actually, don’t move,” Anna says. “You look good standing right there. Carter, can you put your arm around her?”
He looks down and meets my gaze. “If this ever gets weird or uncomfortable, just tell me, all right?”
I nod. “Right. Same,” I say, then he slips his arm around my waist and tugs me into his side.
He smells good—like citrus and sandalwood, but the scent is light, not like he’s wearing cologne. I never love it when a man’s cologne lingers even after he walks away.
But this isn’t that. It’s subtle. Like I’m only going to notice he smells good if I get as close as I am right now.
There’s something sexy about that. Like the scent is only meant for me.
Or. You know. Some other woman who isn’t pretending to be in a relationship with Carter.
“Perfect,” Anna says, looking up from her phone. “Now we only need to do it about fifteen more times.”
My sister-in-law is a very good director, but Carter is the reason the whole photoshoot isn’t horribly awkward. Mostly because the entire time we’re taking pictures, with Anna directing us this way and that, he keeps up a running narrative of what our “date” is when each photo is taken.
“This is the night we played miniature golf for the first time,” he says when Anna makes us put our coats on and pose on the front porch. “I won, by the way. Completely smoked you.”
When we’re standing by the stairs and he wraps his arms around me from behind, he leans close, his breath tickling the skin on my neck, and whispers, “This is the night we went to see a movie. Sadly, I stopped and bought myself a couple of chili dogs on the way and got sick, so you ended up watching most of the movie by yourself.”
I stifle a laugh. “Did you just give yourself indigestion on one of our dates?”
“It made you smile, didn’t it?”
“The smile is perfect,” Anna says. “Whatever you’re saying to her, Carter, keep saying it.”
He absolutely does keep saying it. He talks about the time we spent his day off at the Atlanta Zoo. The night he discovered I have an obsession with nineties boyband music, which is weirdly specific and also—unbelievably—entirely true.
When Anna asks us to sit on the couch and snuggle up together under a blanket, he creates a ridiculous story about riding the Ferris wheel at the state fair and getting trapped at the top of the ride for so long that he had to pee in an empty water bottle to keep from wetting his pants.
“Carter, we can’t have a pee story in our dating history. Not after the chili dogs.”
Carter grins. “Just keeping it real. If we’re getting married, there has to be at least one bathroom story.”
“I appreciate you making all the embarrassing ones about you,” I say.
I have to be grateful for Carter’s strategy, because it absolutely works. In every single photo we take, my smile is completely genuine.
Somehow, with Carter’s narration, the whole thing feels fun and a little silly instead of big and scary, which is what I expected going in.
But more than that, I’m learning that Carter’s presence just puts me at ease.
Even though I fully expect it to, it never feels awkward to touch him, to let him wrap his arms around me or hold me close.
“What about a kiss on the cheek?” Anna says.
I look up at Carter, not wanting to push past any of his boundaries. As comfortable as he’s seemed all night, I don’t think he’ll have a problem. “Is that okay with you?” I ask, and he nods.
“For sure.”
I slip one hand onto his shoulder and push up on my toes. I’ve never dated a man this much taller than I am, and it’s a nice change. I press a kiss to his jawline while he slips a hand around my waist.
I arch my back, my body curving into his as my lips hover just centimeters from his skin. Knowing Anna is taking photos, I stay where I am, breathing in the delicious scent of him.
His grip around my waist tightens, and my free hand lifts to his chest. He’s warm and solid and he smells so good, and it’s a good thing my sister-in-law is taking photos because I’m not sure I could be trusted otherwise.
“Oh, my gosh, this is perfect,” Anna says. “Honestly, the two of you have really great chemistry. There’s no way people won’t believe this is real.”
I immediately drop my hands and take a step back, Anna’s words serving as a stark reminder that it isn’t real.
It’s not that I forgot. With Anna snapping photos, it would be impossible to forget. But I’m not sure I expected to enjoy it so much.
To enjoy him so much.
I take another step backward and adjust the brown V-neck I put on during our last wardrobe change.
“Good,” I say, my voice sounding unnaturally high. “That’s sort of the point.”
Carter pushes his hands into his pockets. “Do you think we got enough?”
“Definitely,” Anna says, scrolling through her phone. “We can totally make these stretch until you guys start spending time together for real.”
I lift my eyes to Carter’s. I wish I could read his expression.
Tonight has been fun. For me, anyway. And it seems like he’s had a good time too. I’d like to think it will keep being fun. But after spending half an hour touching him, hugging him, feeling his strong arms wrapped around my body, I’m all too aware of how quickly this whole plan could go sideways.
That was Anna’s concern—that I might have a hard time not blurring the lines. But relationships are about so much more than fun. And Carter is a man who, it bears reminding myself, agreed to marry me trusting that the marriage would not, under any circumstances, last longer than a year.
He’s not expecting anything out of this, and neither am I.
Physical chemistry? Okay, fine. There’s definitely a little. Maybe even a lot. But it doesn’t have to mean anything. Not if we don’t want it to.
And we don’t.
Simple as that.
Simple. As. That.
After Carter says goodbye to Miles and Anna, I walk him to the front door. It feels like the least I can do considering what he’s agreed to do for me.
“Are you excited for your trip?” he asks as he shrugs into his jacket.
In the dim light of Miles and Anna’s entryway, his eyes look more gray than blue, and I find myself wondering what colors I would mix to get that exact shade.
I won’t paint him for his Sarah Stone original, but that doesn’t mean I won’t paint him at all.
It would be fun to see if I could truly capture the intensity of his eyes.
I’m not sure painting him would qualify as keeping it simple.
At least not when I consider what staring into those eyes seems to do to me.
“I think so,” I say. “Maybe more nervous than excited.”
“Why nervous?” he asks.
I shrug. “Um, I guess just because the Bainbridge is so well-connected with a lot of galleries in the area. It could mean a lot of exposure in front of people who have a lot of influence in the art world. I would love to get a show in New York, so it feels like there’s a lot at stake, you know?”
Carter leans against the wall and folds his arms like he’s in no hurry to leave. “Have you had shows before?”
“Lots. But mostly group things—or solo things at smaller galleries. But I have my first solo show here in Atlanta in March—over in Old Fourth Ward. It’s a pretty big deal too, but New York would obviously be a step up from that.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. “I think it’s really amazing what you do.”
My chest warms at the compliment. They seem to hit differently when they come from Carter because they feel so sincere. “Did you write down all the ideas the girls gave you about what I should paint for you? I particularly liked the Bluey suggestion.”
“I’m totally into Bluey,” Carter says with a grin. “She’s one of Charlie’s favorites.”
I smile at this. I really love how much he cares about Charlie. Holly is lucky to have him as a friend.
“Honestly, you can give me something you’ve already painted,” he says. “I don’t need you to create anything new. Or I could come to your show and buy something. That’s the goal of these things, right? To sell everything?”
“No,” I quickly say. “Absolutely not. I mean, yes, that’s the point, but you are not buying anything at any of my shows. You’re getting something custom. Something free and custom. And you aren’t allowed to fight me on that because it’s the only thing I’m truly giving you in this bargain.”
His eyes lift as he smiles. “Don’t forget the cat. You’re also taking care of him.”
“Of course! The cat. That makes all the difference.”
Carter pushes his hands into the pockets of his coat. “The show that’s here in Atlanta—will we be married by then?”