Chapter 9 #2
Knocks hops onto the couch and curls himself up on Theo’s lap. I take a sip—to avoid looking at how adorable they are together—and end up burning my tongue. “Okay. How are you going to appeal to Arthur?”
“Well, after you said no, I moved onto the rest of the plan, which involves settling into the community a bit more than I have been.” He trails a hand over Knocks’s back. “Sign up to coach Little League, rejoin the Volunteer Fire Department. Look into buying a place.”
“A little performative, don’t you think?”
“This whole concept is essentially a performance.” He sips his tea, eyeing me over his mug. “But they’re all things I’ve been wanting to do anyway. This is just my push to get them going, I guess.”
“And you can still do all that, even if you and I make an . . . arrangement?”
A slow smile curls over his lips. “You’ll be the icing on the cake, Fabes.”
For some reason, my ears feel hot. I blame the tea and set it on the ground. Pulling the pen from the spiral of my notebook, I flip past at least eighty-seven pages full of random lists and turn to an empty one. “So if we were going to do this fake relationship thing, what would it look like?”
He thinks for a moment, fingers tapping on his mug.
“A few public outings? We’d have to make it believable to the town, I think—not just Arthur—but with the efficiency of the Fern River gossip train and phone tree, I don’t think it would have to be much.
Not to mention the fact that it’s us,” he says pointedly.
“Us?” As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I realize what he means. “Oh.”
The kids from the incident that put this town on the map. The kids who spent four years publicly competing over class elections and GPAs.
He shrugs. “It’s bound to draw some attention.”
“Right.” I nod. “What kind of outings?”
“Like . . . dates?”
“Dates,” I repeat solemnly. I haven’t been on a real date in a while.
Everything with Philip was very secretive—nothing public at all.
His parents definitely wouldn’t have approved of their future politician son dating an unemployed college dropout, and my confidence was too shaky at the time to protest.
Theo jerks his chin toward the notebook. “How ’bout this? You make a list of the things you need help with around here, and then we’ll fill in my part second.”
I tap my pen against the blank page. There’s so much that needs to be done, but safety-related tasks are the priority.
First, I write, fix bathroom pipes.
Theo leans forward to read it. “But we just got that done.”
“I still owe you something for it.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “That’s not why I did it or why I’m offering to help.
” He blows out a sharp breath. “I can’t deny that I’m getting something out of it if we follow this arrangement.
But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to know you’re safe here.
Write as many things down as you can. It could be five house tasks for every one date, I don’t care. ”
His eyes pin me in place. Unyielding. I try not to let that statement—whatever it takes to know you’re safe—weave its way into my heart.
I reach for my tea and take a sip, then I hold his gaze with matching resolve. “This has to be a fair exchange of services. A contract. A business arrangement. That’s the only way I’ll do it.”
After a few quiet moments, he dips his chin once, conceding.
Down the left side of the page, I continue the list: insulation, stairs, railing, bedroom drywall, paint hallway.
When I run out of things to write, I hand him the notebook. “How’s this look?”
His gaze slips over the list. “Great. I can help with all of that.”
I pull the notebook back. “Then let’s make a list of a few things I can do for you.”
He hums, thinking. “The adopt-a-thon is next month. You could come with me to that.” I write it down. “And we could go house-hunting together if you want?”
“With Cathy?”
“Only choice, really.”
“Fuck’s sake, Cathy,” I murmur, and he chuckles as I add that to the list.
He takes a sip of tea, then asks, “How about a dinner at Maddox’s, for practice? He invited me over this weekend.”
I chew on my bottom lip while I consider it. Practicing sounds smart for two people who’ve barely spoken to each other for years. “All right.” I count both sides of the list. “We’re still three short for you.”
“We could leave those as bonus events—dealer’s choice.”
I give him a skeptical look. “Who’s the dealer here?”
“Open-ended events that either of us can claim.” There’s a playful glint in his eye.
“As long as they follow the plot,” I amend, adding three free space spots to the list.
“Yes, ma’am.”
As I read over the page again, one question looms at the front of my mind. “Are you sure you don’t want to find a real girlfriend instead? It seems like it would be a lot easier.” I shrug. “Less manual labor at least.”
His gaze flickers to the window, and he’s quiet for so long that I think he might not answer.
Then he says, “I don’t do real relationships, Fabes.
I don’t trust myself in them. No-strings situations have worked out fine in the past, but beyond that .
. .” His focus shifts, trailing over my face.
“People have gotten hurt around me before. I can’t let it happen again. ”
His tone is laced with regret and pain. It seeps into his expression, tightening his lips and wrinkling his brows. And the way he’s looking at me, I know we’re picturing the same moment. Me on the ground, surrounded by chaos, him with a bloody nose, running in the opposite direction.
This is the closest we’ve ever gotten to acknowledging that moment.
There were times in high school when I thought we should, but the further we got from the incident, the less I wanted to.
I could see the heartache in Theo at school, and it always felt like the wrong time to bring it up.
Why would I want to start a conversation about something that would only remind him of more pain?
I can’t even imagine what he must’ve been feeling that morning at the parade—he’d just found out about the abuse the night before and his entire life was falling apart.
At the time, that moment was humiliating for me and changed the trajectory of my high school years. The grudge was easy to hold on to.
But now . . . now I wish I could give that fourteen-year-old boy a hug.
I have so much to say about that day—both of us do—but it’s a bigger conversation than we can dive into right now. We watch each other quietly for a few moments before I do us a favor by changing course. “So, I’m the chosen one?”
His grin is only a fraction of its usual size, but I’ll take it.
“In a way, you’re the perfect candidate.
One: This rumor has sort of fallen into my lap, so to speak.
Two: You’re getting something out of it too.
I can help you with the A-frame. And three: You understand this isn’t real.
We can fake date until Arthur believes I’m sticking around and feels comfortable selling me the practice.
Then you’re free to dump me. In fact, that might be your favorite part. ”
My stomach swoops with a feeling I can’t identify.
“I won’t be lying to him about the other aspects of this,” he continues. “I’m staying in Fern River and putting down roots in the community. I plan to make this my home in every way that counts.”
A hint of jealousy trickles through me. It sure would be nice to have that kind of certainty about where I’m supposed to be.
I nod, processing his points. “Okay. I’ll do it.” Grabbing the pen again, I draw two lines across the bottom. I sign my name over one before passing it to him. “Sign here, please.”
He smirks, taking the notebook and tilting it up out of my view. He writes way longer than necessary for his name, then hands it back to me. Above his signature, he’s written: Do you want to be my fake girlfriend? Check yes or no. [ ] yes [ ] no
Something shifts in the air, tugging my memories back to that first day of fifth grade, when he came into school wearing a shirt from Homeward Bound and green cargo shorts.
His hair was sticking up on one side, he had scabs on both of his elbows (from what I later learned was a Rollerblading fall) and his backpack was half open, a notebook about to tumble out.
With all the confidence in the world, he turned and smiled my way. “Do you like Starburst?” he asked, offering me a red one in his palm.
My heart aches at the memory. I miss that kid more than I let myself realize.
Blinking away the image, I place a check next to yes.
Oaks Folks
Fable: Update for all my nosy family members.
Tessa: I’m waiting with bated breath.
Fable: Theo and I are pretending we’re together for now. If anyone asks, we’re a thing.
Millie: That squeal you just heard from Wilhelmina was me.
Mom: Do I activate the phone tree?
Dad: What kind of “thing”? Is this a newfangled term I don’t know?
Tessa: I’m freaking out. How long? Is there kissing involved? Can I see pictures?
Fable: NO PHONE TREE.
Fable: I won’t be taking any questions at this time.