13. Lottie
thirteen
Lottie
I’m standing on the porch like an idiot, arms wrapped around myself. There’s no doubt my mascara is absolutely not holding the line. I swipe at the tears on my cheeks like I have the power to erase the evidence of crying. Up the drive, brake lights flash on Ty’s rental, and…I’m busted.
I slipped out here for a safe place to cry. There’s no way I can cry in front of Bodan. When Ty stops his car in the middle of the drive and steps out, my stomach flips. His gaze locks on mine instantly, searching. “Lottie, what’s wrong?”
I don’t say anything.
He jogs toward me, asking a follow-up question with a growl in his throat, “Where’s Bodan?”
“He’s fine. I know what you’re thinking.
This isn’t about him.” I shake my head a little too fast, making me dizzy.
I grab hold of the rail and steady the spinning.
“He’s inside. My dad took him to see his collection of fountain pens that have been touched by presidents.
I just needed some air, and seriously, he’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
I’m only halfway lying about the part that I’m fine.
I’m not okay with a lie so big it’s starting to choke me.
How am I supposed to go onstage and act like I’m in love with someone I can’t even look in the eye because I’m that shy?
I’ve never had a boyfriend, never known what it’s like to go on a real date—unless you count that bar encounter with Brett, but I’ve long since burned that from my memory. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
I’m mad as a wet cat at my mom for willingly giving away my dates like they mean nothing and are all for her political gain.
Dating someone—even if it’s fake—should mean something.
I couldn’t even sit next to Bodan on the couch because it felt too intimate.
I know it shouldn’t, but when you have zero experience with that stuff, everything feels heightened.
Ty stalks toward the porch, his eyes stay locked on my face. “So…” he says gently, like he already knows. “Bodan is fine, but you’re not, and you can’t lie to me. What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.” The lie falls apart immediately. My voice cracks, and I look away, staring at the porch railing. “It’s just…it’s stupid.”
He stops a few feet in front of me, but he’s close enough that my breath catches. “You’re crying, which tells me it’s not stupid.”
I almost manage to swallow everything down, but he tilts his head, and his warm eyes soften so much it’s like they back me into a corner. Something in me snaps. “It’s that, you know, I love my mom. I want her to succeed, but this is too far,” I blurt. “Lying about a boyfriend. I mean, come on!”
He blinks but doesn’t say anything, and I rush on, “I mean, Bodan is being a great sport about this, but he has no idea what he’s getting dragged into.
I’m so mad at my mom I can barely breathe, and it’s just—man—it’s so awkward.
I don’t want to be close to a man I don’t even know.
You know me. I don’t date much. This is a whole new thing, and it’s so—” I bubble out an embarrassed laugh as I picture myself sitting on the exact opposite side of the couch in the living room.
“I refused to sit by him. Something in my body spasms just thinking about getting closer to him. How am I supposed to get onstage and pretend like we’re in love in front of the whole world? ”
Ty steps forward—not in a creepy way, but more like he’s trying to be a source of support. “It’ll work out.” His voice is rough, cracking with honesty. “You’re always amazing.”
I shake my head, surprised by my own level of honesty. “No, for real. Have you forgotten how shy I am? I’ve never even held a guy’s hand before. How do I do this in front of the whole world and not crack?”
“Well, that’s not true.” He hesitates, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “You held my pinky once when you got stuck on that rock ledge, and you needed to be rescued. Remember?”
My face warms without permission. I remember that encounter all too well. “Ah, yeah, remember how I refused to take your hand, so you basically gaslit me into believing that I’d die if I didn’t at least take your pinky.”
“That wasn’t gaslighting. I saved your life, but nice to know you appreciated it.” He exhales and shifts his weight until he’s leaning closer, and I can smell his warm amber scent. I close my eyes, wishing I didn’t even know Bodan.
“You’re forgetting I’m comfortable with you, but that’s taken years. I don’t have years to get used to him.” A brittle laugh leaks from my throat. “This would be so much easier if my mom hadn’t made that rule about hockey players and you could just help me.”
“Okay.” He straightens up as if accepting a challenge.
“Just because I’m not your fake date doesn’t mean I can’t help you.
So, you’re worried about holding hands. That’s not too bad.
It’s just a technical skill, like anything.
If there is anything I know, it’s how to teach yourself new skills.
First, you need to manage your stress. Relax your shoulders.
You carry stress right here.” He gestures vaguely near my collarbone, sending a ripple of goosebumps through my body.
“People read that before they hear anything you say.”
I blink. “I—what’s wrong with my shoulders?”
“Nothing is wrong with them but try to keep them loose—it’ll make breathing easier.
And when you’re next to him,” he continues, like this is the most normal thing in the world, “don’t overdo it.
You don’t need to make some grand gesture to make people believe you love him.
Small things work too. Lean in when he talks and make sure you look at him.
You know, act like now that you’ve found your person, you never want to be away from him.
You can give that little smile you have—the one that makes you lower your lashes, almost like you have a secret. ”
My breath catches. I have no idea what smile he’s talking about. I stare at him, my heart pounding. “Ah … you just randomly thought of all that?”
“It’s not random at all. I know your expressions.” A corner of his mouth lifts. “And you can do a lot with just expressions, so you don’t have to touch him if that makes you nervous. But if you want to try hand-holding...”
As if my heart could take any more probing, he reaches for my hand, slowly, like he’s giving me a chance to back away.
My confusion mingles with curiosity. Suddenly I yearn to feel what it’s like to touch him.
I mean, I’ve touched him before, but not like this…
whatever this is that makes my skin heat.
I don’t pull away as his fingers skate over my palm.
Our hands connect, fingers locking together in a perfect fit, like some unspoken skill we’re both discovering.
Electricity sizzles through my throat, my gut, even in my toes.
The fizzle-popping explosions are relentless, and I clear my throat, hoping it will help simmer the sparks. No luck.
“Good hand-holding is comfortable,” Ty continues quietly. “Don’t go overboard with the squeezes or making it super tight. Just act like you belong there.”
The fizzle stops as my whole body goes numb.
What in the actual—
I gape at my hand in his and can’t miss that we fit perfectly.
Suddenly it’s that summer again, back in that Land Rover Ham and I used to share.
I refuse to sell it even though it's old. Ham has long since gotten a new ride, but me, I'll never be able to let go of that moment when Ty's breath was too close. That single moment where everything tipped, and we almost kissed. All the years of wishing for it came together, but I pulled away because…because…I don’t really know why! I’ve forgotten and remembered that moment more times than I care to count, always stuffing it down before my heart feels it. The memory hits so hard my knees threaten to give out. I swallow, and my fingers tremble in his. I’m painfully aware of how perfectly we fit together—and how wrong it is.
What planet am I even on, when Ty’s holding my hand, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world…while he’s telling me how to date another man? As if this whole fake-dating thing wasn’t already out of hand, now this is completely undoing me.
My fingers twitch in his.
It’s not dating advice anymore. It’s him and me and everything we never said that summer. And all the summers before that.
It spirals up my chest, filling it so full of pressure it feels as if it’s about to break. I pull my hand back decisively, like touching him any longer might crack something open I can’t afford. “Yeah,” I say, forcing a breathy laugh that sounds wrong even to my own ears. “You make it sound easy.”
His hand drops to his side. “I’m just saying,” he replies in a low voice, “you don’t have to pretend so hard. Just be you. Whoever’s standing next to you is lucky.”
The words slam into my chest.
Does he know what he does to me? He’s the one standing next to me. He has to know.
I meet his eyes—warm, deep.
For half a second, I forget what we’re talking about. “You shouldn’t be this good at this,” I murmur, rolling my hands into fists to stop myself from acting on the impulse to touch him again. “It’s confusing.”
His brow furrows. “Confusing how?”
“Never mind.” I shake my head, already retreating. “It doesn’t matter. You’re being a friend and helping me out.” The word friend is deliberate. I need a guardrail, even if it costs me something.
He studies me as I try to hold back my expressions, but at least five different emotions rush over me.
There’s not a planet I can exist on where I can stand next to Ty, hold his hand, and act like my brain isn’t consumed by him.
Steeling my face, I clench my stomach and give everything I have to pretend he isn’t unraveling me.
Lucky me, the front door flies open behind us. “Lottie!” a cheerful voice calls. “I was looking all over for you.”
I stiffen as Bodan joins me on the porch, his eyes flicking between us before settling on me. “Hey. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I sigh a little too heavily. “I’m fine .”
Behind me, Ty shifts, adding more physical space between us, but I hardly notice, because our emotional connection is still throbbing in my brain. I don’t look at him because…well, I can’t.
Bodan is waiting.