7. Recently Engaged #2
She’s right. I hadn’t considered the long game, and the last time we had a run-in, it was all over town by morning.
Everybody heard about how I carried her into the shop and took care of her injured ankle.
That’s probably what sparked the dating rumors in the first place.
“Fuck. I wasn’t thinking. How long before they let it go? ”
“A few months at least. Long enough so that it’s not suspicious.”
“That’s crazy. People break up all the time.”
“Not people who seemingly weren’t even dating in the first place. They're going to have questions. They need to see us together. Happy, in love.”
Love. As if that’s something I want or am even capable of.
“What do you suggest?” I ask, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“A few dates here and there. Hold hands in public. Canoodling. You know. Couple stuff.”
I lean back against the counter and stuff my hands into my pockets. “I don’t canoodle.”
“Well, you do now because I wouldn’t expect anything less from my future husband. I offer canoodling lessons if you’re interested.”
“Just because you haven’t seen me date doesn’t mean I don’t know how to do it, princess.”
Her lips pull up at one corner, forming a dimple in her right cheek. “Alright. I’ll play your game. We’ve been together for a year. What did you plan for our first date?”
Movement out of the corner of my eye draws my attention, and I see Charlene looking straight at us from across the room while Auggie digs around in his box of crayons.
As if my feet have a mind of their own, I take two steps toward Clio and place one palm against the counter on either side of her hips. “Don’t tell me you don't remember our first date,” I mutter against the shell of her ear.
She smells sweet, like sugar and orange blossom.
My stubble scrapes against her cheek, and her breath hitches on contact.
“I picked you up at your apartment. You were wearing that ridiculous pink sweater with the strawberries all over it, jeans, and your red sneakers. You had your hair down for the first time since I met you.” I run my fingers through the silky strands to emphasize the point.
She turns her head to the side, and our lips almost touch, but not quite. “I remember that day. You had on that tough guy leather jacket, and you didn’t smile once the whole night.”
“I smiled, princess. Maybe you weren’t paying attention.
” Intent on putting on a good show for the social worker, I sweep a lock of hair off Clio’s shoulder.
“I took you to Saps and Swirls to get ice cream. You picked your favorite… dark chocolate mocha in a chocolate chip waffle cone with two cherries on top.”
“How did you know that’s my favorite?”
“Every good fiancé remembers his girl’s favorite things.”
Her pupils dilate, deepening the green on the outer ring.
“After ice cream, I took you for a ride on my bike to the willow tree near the cliffs. We talked while the sun set, then I drove you back home and walked you to your door.”
“Such a gentleman. Not like you only live two st—”
I press my finger to her mouth to silence her, instantly realizing my mistake. Now all I can think about is replacing that finger with my lips.
No.
I don’t want to kiss Clio.
Annoying, maddening, irritating Clio.
Beautiful, kind… fuck.
“Did you kiss me, Noah Weston?”
“I wanted to,” I whisper, my gaze flicking to her lips before staring into her eyes once more. “I really, really wanted to.”
Her palm flattens against my chest, and she leans forward just enough so that her cheek grazes mine again. “Too bad I don’t kiss on the first date.” Her expression falters, and she mutters under her breath, “or ever.”
I don’t have time to dwell on the remark as Auggie steals our attention. “Uncle Noah! Come see what I made!”
I blow out a shuddering breath, my hands fisting and unfurling as I try to regain my composure. Seemingly unbothered, Clio saunters into the living room and sits in the chair across from Charlene.
As I perch next to Clio on the arm of the chair, Auggie hands her a piece of paper.
“I asked August to draw me a picture of his family,” Charlene explains.
Auggie vibrates, shuffling on the tips of his toes.
“That’s me.” He points to a stick figure with brown curly hair in the center of the drawing, then moves his finger over to the two figures next to him, one blonde and the other with vibrant red hair.
“That’s you and Lexi. And Uncle Noah, that’s you! ”
His finger hovers over the one that looks vaguely like me, and that’s where the sweet family portrait ends, because to my left is the likeness of my brother behind bars, and in the sky is an angel with a bright yellow halo.
Until now, I hadn’t realized how aware he was of everything around him, but I should’ve known. Kids are perceptive as hell.
As much as they tried to hide it, I always knew when my parents relapsed. I guess I hadn’t considered how much it would affect me to see the evidence of his trauma scribbled in crayon on a piece of printer paper like last week’s art project.
I don’t notice my hands are shaking until Clio slides her palm against mine and squeezes.
“You did a great job, Auggie,” Clio says, handing him back the paper. “I especially love Uncle Noah’s frowny face. It looks just like him.”
“Do you like it?” He peers up at me through hopeful eyes.
I ruffle his hair and muster a smile. “It’s awesome, buddy.”
Charlene stands with her clipboard in hand. “It was very nice meeting you, August, but I have to get going now.”
“Ok. Bye!”
“Would you mind walking me out?” she asks.
I nod and lead her to the apartment door.
She stops on the threshold. “For a kid who’s been through a lot, he’s doing well.
I can only assume that has something to do with you.
Off the record, I don’t see any cause for concern, although I would suggest a weekly therapy appointment.
You’ll get an official follow-up letter in the mail, but hopefully, you won’t see me again. August appears to be in good hands.”
She looks over my shoulder, and I follow her gaze to the living room where Auggie’s sitting next to Clio with a plastic dinosaur in his hand. They’re both smiling like the world didn’t nearly come crumbling down around us.
“He’s a sweet kid,” Charlene says. “And she’s a good one.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Once the door snicks closed behind her, I lean my shoulder against it, watching the scene playing out in my apartment like an old movie reel of Jonah with our mom before everything went to shit. The smiles, the laughter, the way Auggie looks at her like she hung the moon, it’s all too familiar.
I have to keep my distance. I can’t risk leaving Auggie with even more heartache when she inevitably leaves, but how the fuck am I going to do that when I’ve just thrown us into the deep end of a fake engagement?