Chapter 37 #2
“I’d love to,” I say, thrilled for this chance.
“Great. But you can’t use Lake for everything,” he says, wagging a finger. His tone is deliberately playful but it slices through my excitement.
“I won’t. I promise,” I say earnestly. “I won’t give him special treatment.”
I won’t even be involved with him when this initiative starts. We’re racing so fast to the end of us.
“I know. I’m just teasing,” Daniel says, rolling his chair closer around the desk, like he needs to remove the barrier between us. “As a friend though, how’s it going?”
I hesitate for a second or two, a twinge of guilt stabbing me. No, that’s more than a twinge. That’s a freaking basketball of guilt. “Great,” I say, then realize I’d better hedge my answer. Our romance is going to end soon. “Everyone needs a rebound now and then,” I add, using his prior line.
“Truer words,” he says as his smile disappears. “I haven’t seen the media make much of it yet. But that might happen, you know?”
I remember his words about the media’s obsession with the grieving widower, and it hits me how little I know about Lake’s relationship with his late wife.
Well, why would I know much? There’s been no need to discuss it.
“I’ll be ready,” I say with a bright, peppy smile, but when I leave his office, my gut churns. I feel nauseous from the little lies I’m telling him.
Daniel’s my boss, but he’s a friend too, and I hate that I’m not telling him the truth.
But I can’t, right? Once you let the truth out, it can snowball. And really, Lake and I only need to keep up the lie for a few more days till the wedding.
There’s one person I need to tell the truth to though, and I can’t wait much longer.
Someone I avoided the other night.
Someone whose father I just met.
Someone who thinks her brother is broken.
I call Clem.
* * *
There aren’t enough pages in my Notes, Complaints, and Existential Crises notebook for all the possible outcomes involved in telling Clem I’m banging her brother.
But Elena would be proud of me for doing this—listing all the different things that might happen when I see my friend.
That is, if I ever tell Elena about the fake dating.
But first, I focus on Clem. I write out the outcomes on the bus ride home from the arena.
It helps with my worry that things might go wrong when I talk to her.
I think I know how to smooth things over though.
Before I catch the next bus, I pop into a store in the Marina that has everything, find what I need, then hop onto a bus out of town.
Once I arrive in downtown Cozy Valley, I feel ready.
I let the fresh air center me and yes, the cozy vibe centers me too.
I pass Whiskers and Kisses where the store’s tuxedo cat bats lazily at a stuffed mouse from the top floor of his tower.
Would Thor like a mouse like that? I’m tempted to pop in and grab a toy, but I have to remind myself I’m not here for Lake. I’m here for his sister.
Up ahead, The Meet Cute comes into view.
That’s the bookstore Clementine opened a couple of years ago.
A brick wall along the side of the store is painted neon pink, showing off the spines of popular books from the last few years—like Top-Notch Boyfriend, The Twelve Hate Dates of Christmas, When You Kiss Me Like This, and other fan favorites.
I open the door as Clem calls out a question to a group of a dozen or so avid readers, draped across the couch in the shape of lips and several pink folding chairs.
“And for the grand prize and the chance to call yourself the Trivia Smut Queen—what did Lucy from Bangable proclaim was the wildest place she’d ever banged her enemy?”
A woman with tattoos of books dancing down the bronze skin of her arm darts up a hand. “The hot-air balloon as it flew over the food festival in Lucky Falls.”
Clementine picks up a silver bell from the counter and rings it. “All hail Mariana Valdez.”
Mariana stands and takes a bow while the others clap and cheer for her.
Clementine grabs a sparkly tiara off the counter, waving to me when she spots me. She’s wearing a shirt with an illustration of a cat reading a book on it, and the words Books. Because Murder is Wrong.
She bestows the tiara on Mariana. After that, I busy myself checking out her sticker collection and hoping the confession goes as well as I believe it can.
Once the trivia club has filtered out, Clem shuts the door and locks it, leaving just me and her little dog, Fern, all frosty-faced, who glances up from her heated bed behind the counter and gives me a look that seems to translate as: Did you bring me a biscuit? If not, I don’t care about you.
“I don’t have a biscuit, Fern.”
The cutie sighs the most dramatic dog sigh of all time, then curls into a ball on her bed, looking the other way.
“You’re dead to her,” Clem says, as she joins her little critter behind the counter.
“I’ll do better next time,” I say to the pup then glance around the shop, hoping to ease into the convo. “Looks like trivia night was great.”
“We have a blast here.” There’s a wistful note in her voice, and I wonder if it’s because she always wanted to open a shop in the city, not a little town.
She shakes it off, then pins me with a curious stare as she sweeps around the counter and starts folding the chairs away. “But I suspect you’re not here about trivia.”
There’s a tease in her voice, but also a no-bullshit edge to her tone. Which is one of the reasons I adore her. She doesn’t like to beat around the bush.
“I’m not,” I say, and her words from earlier repeat in my head. I always support you. Even if it involves my weird brother.
But other words do too. Lake’s words: She likes to give me gag gifts. Last year for my birthday she sent me my face on a potato.
I dip my hand into my bag. Some conversations just need lubrication.
I hand her a gift wrapped in pink paper.
Arching a brow, she sets down the folding chair in her hand and takes it. “Gifts are the way to my black heart.”
“It’s not black,” I chide.
“No, but my soul might be.” She rips it open, then laughs. She slides the fluffy pink earmuffs onto her head, covering her ears with the gift I picked up at a shop in the Marina. “Go ahead now and tell me you’re”—she stops to gag—“banging my brother.”
It’s a relief, her reaction. Her amusement. Her sarcasm. I still need to say it though. I speak crisply and clearly, so she can read my lips even though she might not be able to hear me well. “I had sex with your brother.”
She cringes. We’re talking the full-body kind. When she stops doubling over, she raises her face and asks loudly, “Are you done? Is it safe to remove them?”
I nod.
She slips them off her ears. “Was it as gross as I suspect? Wait. Don’t tell me.”
I laugh, grateful for the outcome—the one I was hoping for with the earmuffs she requested.
“I won’t tell you a single detail, I promise,” I say, grabbing a folded chair and carrying it to her stock room. She grabs one too.
“Good, but also, I knew.”
My jaw drops. “How?”
“Girl, you ran away when I joined everyone at the game the other night. I put two and two together. Also, he cut his hair. And I saw that kiss online from the dress shop.”
“You watched the lipstick test?” I’m glad she has no idea about the other lipstick test.
“I did, and yes, it was as weird as I expected. But look, I’m the person who watches horror movies, so this should not be a surprise.”
“Fair.”
“And it was horrifying. But also telling,” she says as we return to the shop to grab more chairs.
My heart speeds up, liking that the kiss told some kind of story. “How could you tell it was real?”
“He pretty much made googly eyes at you then and was all I’m gonna kiss you now,” she says, in a faux deep voice before she gags again.
I laugh but inside butterflies are taking off.
And I should not like the way they feel so much. I focus on my friendship with her—not my blooming feelings for her brother that are going nowhere. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I hate lying. I hate lying to my boss and my parents and even Caroline in a way.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “I know. It’s anathema to you.”
“It is.”
“But, also if you’re”—she pauses, like she’s bracing herself to say it—“smashing, isn’t it real?”
My heart twists, wishing I could say yes, but knowing I can’t. “It’s just temporary. And it’s fine, really it is. It’s just a rebound. That’s all it can be. I’m fresh out of the land of the dumped and he’s, well, he’s complicated.”
She tilts her head, as if she’s mulling that over. “Does he seem complicated when he’s with you?”
It’s a valid question and the answer’s a resounding no, but also we don’t always let other people see our complexities. I certainly don’t. And I’d be wise not to fool myself again.
“No, he doesn’t,” I answer truthfully. “But I remember what you said. I deserve a man who isn’t so…shut down.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Maybe he’s not so shut down anymore. I don’t know. But I know this—I don’t want you to get hurt,” she says gently, then pauses and adds, “or him.”
I flinch. I didn’t expect her to say that. Could I hurt him? It hardly feels like I have that power. But I suppose we all can hurt each other. “I don’t want to hurt him either. That’s why we have rules. So no one gets hurt.”
“I love my brother. He’s a pain in the ass and a weirdo who’s obsessed with owls and his cat and free food, but he also cares deeply for a few people. He’ll go to the end of the earth for them.”
Something warms inside my chest. “I believe that.”
She reaches for my hands. “And you’re a beautiful, brilliant, tightly wound optimist who believes in love—and in doing things at the right time, in the right order, the right way.”
It’s her way of saying take your time.
“I don’t want either of you to get hurt,” she adds again.
“I know,” I say quietly then I hug her.
I stay a while and help her close, catching up on her customers’ latest requests for stories about aliens with five dicks, and cinnamon-roll hot nerds who are secretly obsessed with their curvy best friends, and rival chocolate shop owners who have to compete in the town treasure hunt.
As we re-shelve books, I feel lighter and freer now that she knows things aren’t entirely fake with her brother.
But there’s someone else I should tell.
On the way home, I tap out an email to Elena. I wanted to let you know I’ve been fake dating my friend’s hockey-playing brother to stick it to my ex, but along the way the lines started to blur.
Ugh.
I try again. But as I re-read each draft, something sticks in my gut. It’s the sinking realization that I can’t confess this behind the shield of email. I’ll have to say it in person, especially since I’ve been avoiding it.
I slump down in the seat. Sometimes adulting just really sucks.
Like when I walk into my place, feeling both better for having told the truth to Clem at least—and a little achy, knowing that both this fake romance and the real fling I’m having with my friend’s brother is cruising toward its inevitable end.
But I’m going to enjoy the ride.