Chapter 12 #2
“Yes,” she says. “Familiar is good. Familiar is believable. You kept it private because you’re dealing with Liam and Carla’s wedding, and Forrest is avoiding attention before the coaching thing.”
“That sounds very reasonable.”
“This is how you structure a good fake relationship,” she says. “A history built around truth, with a strong visual concept. Actually, we need a picture board. Maybe glitter. Maybe—”
“Win, focus on my issue, please. I don’t have time for craft-based fraud.”
“Rude,” she complains. “There is always time for schematics, vision boards, and an emotionally supportive theme.”
“I don’t think—”
“Daisy, are you writing this down?”
“Obviously.” I glance at my notebook. “It’s going to become a list after we’re done with the call.”
“Underline less,” Bea says, leaning over my shoulder. “Fewer exclamation points.”
I cover the notebook with my arm. “You run a bookstore. You of all people should respect language and punctuation.”
“I respect them when they’re not panicking.”
Winnifred laughs. “Bea, please make sure Daisy doesn’t overdecorate the lie.”
“I’ll take a marker to it if necessary.”
“Traitor,” I tell Bea.
“I’m a great employer,” she corrects. “Big difference.”
“Why does this feel too . . .” I press my lips together and twist them sideways. “It feels too clean.”
“That’s because your actual life is currently a corn maze designed by emotionally unavailable people.”
Bea nods. “Accurate.”
I glare at my phone, then at Bea. “Wonderful. Very healing. Love being emotionally assessed by a committee.”
“Second thing,” Winnifred says. “Do not make Forrest charming.”
“I couldn’t if I tried.”
“I’m serious. If he suddenly starts smiling and saying the correct thing, people will know something is wrong.”
“I’m not sure Forrest has ever said the correct thing on purpose.”
“Exactly. Let him be grumpy. The whole appeal is that he’s grumpy to everyone else and slightly less grumpy to you.”
Bea points at me. “He’s extra grumpy to you.”
Winnifred claps. “That’s even better. I love visible character development.”
“You think his extra grumpiness is character development?”
“Yes,” Winnifred says brightly. “It’s romantic. We should definitely lean into the fall energy. Hot cider. Pumpkin patches. Grump in knitwear.”
“You make this sound like a Yelp review for a haunted inn.”
“It worked for Soren.”
“Soren is not an inn.”
“No, but he was haunted.”
I cannot argue with that.
The front bell jingles out in the café, faint through the back-room door. Bea glances toward the sound but doesn’t move.
“They can wait,” she says.
“You are a business owner.”
“I am witnessing history.”
“You are avoiding customers.”
“Both can be true.”
I turn back to the phone. “What else?”
“Third thing,” Winnifred says. “You need one controlled version before Winterberry eats this alive.”
“I thought the version was the story.”
“The version is what you say. The controlled version is what people see.”
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
“No. Absolutely not. We are not doing a fake date before it’s necessary.”
“Call it a public appearance.”
“Worse. Now I feel like a mayor with lip gloss.”
Bea picks up a jar of cinnamon sticks and writes something on the inventory sheet. “You’re already pretending to date a man for optics. You are past dignified vocabulary.”
I glare at her. “That was unnecessary.”
“It was free.”
Winnifred hums. “It doesn’t have to be anything dramatic. Something small in Boston. The café, maybe. Somewhere someone can plausibly see you together and report back that it looked natural.”
“No,” I say. “The Turning Page stays ours.”
The words come out too fast.
Bea looks at me.
Winnifred goes quiet for half a second.
“What?” I ask.
“That sounded like a rule,” Winnifred says.
“It is a rule.”
“Whose rule?”
“Forrest’s.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t ‘oh.’”
“I didn’t say anything else.”
“You said ‘oh’ with a cardigan on and hot tea in a fall-inspired mug.”
Winnifred’s voice softens, which is rude because I am not prepared for that tone. “So he didn’t want to use the real parts.”
I swallow.
“No,” I say. “He didn’t.”
“That’s good.”
“It’s inconvenient.”
“Most good things are.” Winnifred hums. “That means your controlled sighting can’t be there,” she says. “Respect the rule. We need something else. Something public enough to be noticed, but casual enough not to look staged.”
“Great. So we need organic fraud.”
“Exactly.”
“I hate that you understood me.”
“Come to Colorado,” she says. “We’ll do a few casual photos while you’re here. Nothing too posed. A bakery run, a walk, maybe one picture with Forrest looking annoyed in the background.”
“Forrest won’t come to Colorado for a fake-dating photo montage.”
“Not with that attitude.” She huffs.
“We’re not using your business for this either.”
“It’d be free publicity. People love hockey players.”
“This hockey player hates social media.”
“Hmm,” she says on the other side of the phone. “I’ll talk to my cousin. He probably needs a push.”
“Don’t you push him,” I warn her.
“This is a family matter, and we need to arrange things before we go public.”
“It’s already public,” I remind her.
“Sure, but you haven’t released the joint statement.”
“We’re not a publicly traded relationship,” I complain.
“No, but you are a Winterberry relationship,” she reminds me. “That’s even worse. There’re more shareholders. You’ll need a theme.”
I close my eyes.
Bea pats my shoulder with the solemn comfort of a woman enjoying herself.
“Not a theme,” I warn Winnifred.
“Trust me on this,” she says. “It’s going to be amazing.”
“That is exactly what people say before they ruin someone’s bangs, wedding, or emotional stability.”
“Good news,” Winnifred says. “You already have unstable covered.”
“I understand optics, but don’t overdo this.”
“I promise, it’ll be painless.”