Chapter 9 #2
He chuckles. “Can’t say that it will. But it may help if you’re nursing any sort of headache.”
“It’s not so bad, thanks to you, but I’ll take coffee. Thank you.”
I don’t sit up, instead listening as Collin moves around the kitchen. I have a vague memory suddenly of him telling me that this is his dad’s place. That would make the barren room I’m staying in make more sense. The room I’m in is probably just where he stays while he’s in town.
Now that I’m thinking about it, the layout is nearly identical to the loft Harper and Chase are staying in, the differences mostly in the finishes and decor.
Out here, there are more signs of life than the room I slept in: photos on the fridge of the Grahams and a lot of Jo, colorful dish towels hanging from the oven, and a few plants in pots, which, if I had to guess, I’d say Jo made because they’re all sort of lopsided and painted in colors that clash.
From what Chase has told me, after buying the town, Tank renovated all the lofts above storefronts along the little Main Street of Sheet Cake, keeping a few for himself and his family. I wonder if he has one I could rent and if I could afford it.
Can I afford it?
I need to find out more about my new job. I’m pretty sure the assistant who called last night for Kelvin and Vespa didn’t give me any details. Or, if she did, they’re lost in the cinnamon-flavored void.
I could always make more content and say yes to some brand deals or sponsorships to tide me over.
But every day that goes by without me being chained to social media, the less I want to go back to it.
I like getting ready without filming my skincare routine.
I’ve enjoyed really living this week without thinking about how the light would be for filming or what trending song would pair with a particular moment.
How long would it take the internet to forget me if I stopped showing up?
I have a feeling I don’t want to know the answer to that.
“Cream or sugar?” Collin asks.
“Black is fine.”
I sit up as I hear him set a mug down near me. Collin swivels on his stool to face me, leaning on the countertop with one arm while drinking his coffee with the other.
Collin is a lot to take in so early in the morning. He’s just … too appealing.
It’s funny—when I came down for Chase’s wedding and met the Grahams, it wasn’t Collin who made a big impression.
James was the only brother who approached me.
I couldn’t decide if he was flirting or simply trying to be friendly—probably because he wasn’t really good at either one, though he did try.
In all honesty, I didn’t leave with any real impression of Collin.
Even after coming back for Thanksgiving, which in Sheet Cake is called Feastivus, I might have confused him with Pat—similar build, same dark brown hair—if not for Collin’s vivid blue eyes.
We made small talk I’m sure, but I don’t remember.
Now, after spending almost a single day with Collin, it’s hard to imagine how this is possible. Everything about him is vivid, like he’s a full-color drawing on a page of pencil sketches.
“Hm. You’re one of those, huh?” he asks.
“One of those what?” I ask.
“The way people take their coffee says something about who they are,” he says, which isn’t an answer.
“Well, then just so we’re clear—sometimes I like cream.”
“But not all the time?”
“Nope. Depends on my mood.”
“Does that make today’s mood black?” he asks with a grin.
“My mood right now is … no more Fireball. Ever. How do you take your coffee?”
“With a healthy dose of sweetened creamer,” Collin says, licking his lips.
Despite myself, I can’t help but watch his mouth. Then I snap my gaze back to my mug and take too big of a sip. It burns all the way down.
“What flavor of creamer?” I ask, trying to restore my equilibrium, which is decidedly unbalanced.
“Changes based on my mood. Right now, I’m on a salted caramel kick. Want to try it?”
He holds out his mug, and I find myself setting mine down to take a sip. His isn’t as hot as mine, and it’s almost as much cream as coffee.
I make a face and hand it back. “Tastes like dessert.”
“Thank you.”
“So, what does your dessert coffee say about you?” I ask. “And don’t tell me it says you’re sweet.”
“Even if I am?” He flutters those long lashes at me, grinning.
“A sweet talker, maybe.”
Collin draws an imaginary sword from an imaginary scabbard and stabs himself in the chest. “You wound me.”
I lift the mug to hide my smile. He’s utterly too charming.
This is a problem. Especially when I think about Brightmark and the expectation that I’m in a relationship with Collin—someone they’re all too familiar with. The whole setup is a bad idea to begin with. But when the crush feelings I’ve quickly developed are factored in, it’s a real crisis.
I can’t sustain this lie. Both because my conscience is already screaming and because the more time I spend with Collin, the more I like him. I absolutely cannot keep pretending to be his girlfriend.
Not when the lie is starting to sound like something I’d like to be true.
Meanwhile, Collin is just a nice guy who stepped in to help—probably because he felt obligated to look out for me because of Chase.
I wish it were for another reason … but I doubt it.
Collin recognized me right away at the festival.
So, stepping in to help me wasn’t really an option. It was practically an obligation.
“I thought men didn’t want to be called sweet,” I say. “Something about it being the kiss of death or nice guys finishing last.”
Collin leans a little closer. “I’m too competitive to finish last, darlin’.”
I’ll bet.
I clear my throat. “What does drinking my coffee black say about me? You said I’m one of those.”
“Depends,” Collin says. “It’s more complicated since you sometimes take cream. Is this what you order at a coffee shop?”
“Nope. I like lattes.”
“Flavored or plain?”
“Usually caramel. But if there are fun flavors, I’ll try anything. So?”
I don’t know why I’m so curious about this. It’s not like Collin’s view of my coffee order is some personal opinion on me or anything.
“So, I think you’re a hard one to pin down, Molly-girl.”
Okay, Collin has officially come up with a nickname I like more than darlin’. I can feel a flush spreading over my cheeks.
Before I can drum up a response, Collin gets to his feet and holds out a hand. “I know you said you didn’t feel too bad, but I promised you the best hangover cure breakfast. Or at least, so I’ve been told.”
Eyeing his hand and not moving, I ask, “It’s not a breakfast you’ve actually tried?”
“Oh, I eat it regularly when I’m in town,” he says with a smile. “But I don’t drink much, so I wouldn’t know about a hangover.”
“This is my first one,” I admit. “And I suspect you saved me from the worst of it by taking such good care of me.”
“Because I’m so sweet,” Collin teases without missing a beat. He wiggles his fingers, which I still have yet to take. “Come on, Molly.”
It’s only after I’ve set down my mug and taken his hand that Collin adds something that makes my stomach drop.
“It’ll be easier to have a conversation about how this fake relationship will work once we have food in our bellies.”