CHAPTER 22
I’m in the library researching a region in Spain, trying to piece together what a family might have done for work in the early nineteen hundreds and why they’d want to come to America.
It’s been a week since Millie attacked me by the rock, something that still makes me laugh. Confused too. Why did she attack me instead of running to the house for safety? At the same time, I’m proud of her for trying—albeit not well—to defend herself.
A bruise developed on my back where she hit me with the lantern, but that’s all the damage she caused. I felt bad for scaring her. Now it’s just funny. And my gratitude for her agreeing to be my fake girlfriend grows every day. Smiling at her comes naturally. I’m working on flirting.
Wanting to hurry and finish my work so we can spend time together in front of my family, I read about the city of Santiago de Compostela. It’s a college town. Could the great-grandfather have been a professor who was offered a fellowship at a university in the US, and that’s why they came to America?
I’m adding the information to a spreadsheet of possible scenarios when Millie comes into the library carrying a large box. She bumps into a wingback chair, making the contents in her arms wobble dangerously to the side.
“Whoa!” I jump up, rushing over to take the burden from her. Setting it on the coffee table in front of the unlit fireplace, I peer in. “What is this?” Inside, there are a few types of different colored fabric, antique skeleton keys, owl figurines, blue feathers, fake flowers in a variety of colors, and empty vintage picture frames.
“I’m taking aesthetic photos of your mom’s books to post on her social media platforms.”
“Need any help?” Being with her is more fun than researching Mom’s project.
“Actually, yes.” Millie points out the door. “I have another box and a ring light to bring in.”
“You just want me for manual labor?” I puff out my chest, making me look more muscly than I am.
My actions don’t go unnoticed by Millie. She stares at my chest, taking her sweet time to sweep her gaze up to my eyes. Pink colors her cheeks. Right. On. Cue. I like that I can always count on this reaction.
“For now,” she says, like it’s a promise of more things to come.
What else might Millie want to do with me? “I’m your humble servant.” I tilt my head forward like she’s my master I’m submitting to.
“Well then, let’s go.” I follow her outside to the front of the house. She points to a box in the back of her car and grabs a black pole with a round circle attached to the top.
In the library, I set the box next to the other one on the coffee table.
Millie moves both boxes to the couch. “I need the coffee table to do the flat lay.”
“Flat lay?”
“Instead of doing the photo shoot against a wall, I’m laying everything on the table. I’ll take the picture from above.”
“Ah, I see. And you need all these knickknacks to make the book look good?” Isn’t that what the cover is for?
She grins. “I do. When it’s done, you’ll see.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Can I watch you work? I’m intrigued.”
She shrugs. “Sure.” She lifts out a square, stained wood board. Shuffling through the boxes, she finds a knit throw blanket and bunches it up, laying it on top of the wood. She gets Mom’s newest release, setting it in the middle. I’m fascinated as bit by bit she adds objects that mean something from the story.
A fact I wouldn’t know unless I’d read the book, which I did. I’ve read every single novel Mom’s published. Her latest is a women’s fiction story set in the 1920s. I get the owl and feather references, along with keys.
“I swear I bought a strand of pearls,” Millie says, looking in a box.
I dig through the box she’s not looking in. Pulling out a strand of costume jewelry, I say, “Is this what you’re looking for?”
“Yes!” she squeals. “Thank you.”
Mils adds candles, flowers, greenery, and a tube of lipstick. “Okay.” She stands, swiping her hands on her thighs. “Photo time.”
I’m impressed. A bunch of junk turned into a cool mood board for Mom’s book. Did Millie read the novel, or did Mom tell Mils things to use for this photo shoot? Millie snaps a few photos. Shuffles items around, then snaps a few more.
She holds her phone in front of my face. “What do you think?”
Whatever filter she used makes the objects stand out even more. “It’s amazing. Will you do this with her other books?”
“As soon as I finish reading them.” Millie eyes me up and down. A slow smile spreads across her face. “I just had an idea.” She claps her hands. “Oh my gosh, seriously, this is going to be so awesome. How do you feel about being a model?”
I place a hand over my chest. “Me?” Why does she want me to pose? And what kind of pictures are we talking about here? Mom writes romance and women’s fiction. Is Millie wanting some sort of lovey-dovey vibes? Because that is so not happening.
“Secrets of the Woods is set here in Lake Lloyd. Correct?”
“It’s the inspiration, yes.” I’m nervous admitting that. What does Millie have up her sleeve?
“Ha! I knew it.” She spreads her hands in front of her, like she wants me to imagine the picture she’s painting. “Here’s what I’m thinking. The grove by the rock is where Felicity meets Miles for the first time. It’s the perfect spot for a side and back shot of you. If we can do the photoshoot mid-day when the sun is shining through the leaves in the trees, it will add the perfect ghostly element, which ties in with the time-travel romance. What do you say? Will you be my model?”
Mom asking me invasive questions as a teen for research was bad enough. Now Millie wants to use me for social media purposes? Being exposed to that many people makes my skin itch. I scratch my chin. “Uh. I’m not sure…”
She clasps her hands in front of her in a plea. Her eyes get wider, and she turns her lips into a pouty frown. How do people say no to that adorable face? I don’t think of Mils as anything more than a friend, and yet, it’s taking everything in me not to give in to whatever she asks of me. She wants a yacht? I’ll buy her the biggest one I can afford.
“Please, Bennett?” she begs. “You’re about the same size and hair color as Miles in the story. Honestly, based on the men I’ve read in your mom’s books so far, it appears she has a type.” Millie scans her finger up and down my body.
Ew. I really hope I’m not Mom’s type and Mom’s only used Dad as inspiration. “I don’t kno—”
Millie grabs on to my arm.
Looking into her golden-brown eyes, my resolve to say no melts like a gummy bear in a hot car. This overwhelming need to give her whatever she wants, to spend my days making her happy, makes me say, “Fine. But only side and back pictures. No portraits.”
Millie’s arms fling around my neck. “Oh, thank you, Bennett. This is going to be ah-mazing!”
I’m startled, but my body reacts on instinct, pulling Millie to my chest. We’re embracing and my heart is saying, this feels nice. It”s been a long time since I’ve hugged someone who isn’t family.
The library door bangs open. Evie comes in shouting, “Millie, I’m springing you out of here!”
Millie jumps away from me like I threatened to give her a wet willy. She runs her hands down the front of her shirt, chuckling nervously. “Oh. Hey, Evs. We’re just… um… yeah, what’s going on?” Her cheeks are as red as her painted fingernails.
I smile, loving that we got caught. My plan is working.
Evie’s hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my heck, am I interrupting something?” Her eyes go wide. “Because if I am, I am so sorry.” She points between Millie and me, grinning. “But you two would be so great together. If that’s what you both want.”
“Okay,” I say loudly, talking over Evie’s ramble. “Where are you taking Millie?”
Not that I care or anything. Millie is free to spend her time however she wants.
“Sand volleyball with Eric and his friends,” Evie says. “But I see she’s busy, so I’ll go on my own.” Evie flies out of the room as quickly as she came in, not giving Millie a chance to respond.
“I hope you didn’t want to go,” I say lightly, a slight tease to my tone.
Millie packs away the photo materials. “I would have if she stayed long enough for me to give an answer, but it’s fine. I’ll go next time.”
My stomach ties itself into a knot, like the big soft one I get every time I go through an airport. “When would you like to schedule my photo shoot?” I’d rather get this unpleasant task over with as soon as possible. “I need time to book an appointment at the salon.”
Millie’s hands still. She eyes me.
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
She faces me head-on, running a hand over her jaw. “You know, it’s probably not a bad idea to touch up those grays.”
Excuse me. I don’t have gray hair!
She continues, “Miles is only twenty-five in the book. You’re too old, professor.”
Wait… does Millie not find me attractive? I’ve caught her staring at me a dozen times, and her cheeks often turn red when I tease her about it. But am I reading the situation all wrong? Am I too old for her?
What does it even matter? We’re friends. Friends don’t care how the other person looks or what year they were born.
She smirks, her eyes glowing with humor.
Ha! She does like how I look. “I’ve always heard women like mature men.”
Millie taps her chin as she studies me. “Not always. But there are exceptions.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Am I an exception?” My tone is low, coarse as it exits my throat.
Guess my flirting is better than expected.
“Most definitely,” she whispers. She slaps a hand over her mouth, staring at me like she
shared a national secret with the enemy.
An influx of heat like I’m getting in the hot tub rushes through me. I try to keep my lips neutral, but they refuse to obey. A smile spreads across my face. She definitely finds me attractive.
That’s great news for our fake relationship. I can platonically say Millie is a beautiful woman, though it doesn’t change anything on my end.
“I’ll clean this stuff up later and figure out a time for pictures with you tomorrow,” Millie says.
“Alright. What are you doing the rest of the day? Want to find Evie and play volleyball?”
She glances at the door. “Yeah, actually, I think I will. Are you coming?”
Uh, yeah. We need to keep our momentum going in front of the family. “Absolutely.”