Chapter 4
Theo
I need a plan here. Running over on a whim wasn’t a plan, but that seems to be a trend with me today: making decisions before I’ve thought them through.
As Fable slides boxes onto the shelf, my gaze wanders, sweeping over her pink cheeks and long lashes. Her hair hangs in a braid down her back, and a Hawkins Hardware shirt sits above a pair of loose jeans, their legs rolled up above her black Converse sneakers.
Goddamn, she’s beautiful. This happens every time I’m around her—I lose track of what I’m supposed to be doing and just end up staring and fumbling over myself.
We’ll start slow. Ease her into a full conversation. Maybe that will get me back on track. I grab the next box from the cart and offer it to her.
“If you’re here for a job, I don’t think handing me light bulbs is going to impress Logan. Especially when he’s not even here.” She gives me a droll look but takes the box.
“No, not here for a job.” What the fuck am I doing? I probably should’ve practiced with Maddox or something.
The bell dings over the door, drawing our focus as Mr. Garfield, our high school calculus teacher, steps inside.
“Then hurry up, because I’d like to keep mine,” she hisses. Then her expression transforms into a bright customer service smile as she greets Mr. Garfield.
“Two of my favorite students,” he says warmly. “Although I can’t say I’ve seen you together like this. Have you finally put aside your differences?”
Fable lets out a sarcastic snort under her breath. “Not at all,” she says at the same moment I tell him, “Absolutely.”
Poor Mr. Garfield really saw us at our worst. By the time we entered his class in twelfth grade, our rivalry had reached its peak. There were many days where he had to stop Fable and me from arguing about the best way to solve a problem, even though both of us had ended up with the correct answer.
I flash him a wide smile. Maybe the way to endear myself to Fable is to remind her how much fun we had competing. “I’ve totally forgiven her for that point-one GPA win. And she has forgiven me for the fact that everyone laughed way harder at my graduation speech.”
A haughty humph sounds from beside me. “They did not.”
“Did too,” I insist.
Fable grumbles something incoherent under her breath.
Mr. Garfield is rightfully confused, his gaze bouncing between us. “Well, okay,” he says with a forced grin. “Good to see you both. I need to find some painter’s tape.”
“Aisle two.” Fable directs him.
“Thank you,” he calls, disappearing from view.
When I hand the next box over, she glowers at me and snatches it with more force than before. Okay, apparently the competitive angle didn’t work. I’ll try a straightforward approach. “So, you know the picture of us from last night?”
Something startles behind her eyes. “What picture?”
“The one everybody’s talking about this morning?”
She cuts a look my way. “What are you saying? My phone has been dead all day.”
“The picture.” I pull out my phone, swipe to the image, and turn it in her direction. “This one.”
She goes still, lips parted. Her gaze bounces all over the image before she grabs my phone and zooms in. Her pulse flickers rapidly in the column of her throat as she scowls at the image.
Damn, I don’t think she’s seen this yet.
I try to lighten the mood. “We look pretty good together, huh?”
She ignores my question. “Let me guess, Cathy took this?”
“Yeah. She sent it to our moms.”
The corners of her mouth tighten. “For fuck’s sake, Cathy.”
“Excuse me.” We both jump at the sound of Mr. Garfield’s voice. “Where can I find the spackling paste?”
“Uh, aisle four,” Fable replies distractedly, turning to give him a quick grin.
When she whirls back to me, she shoves the phone into my chest. “This is fine. Annoying, but fine. It’s a stupid picture of a moment I’d love to forget. I don’t think you needed to run all the way here to show me.” She tips up her chin stubbornly and reaches for another box.
Objectively, this isn’t going well so far.
We’re getting further and further from any sort of conversation that leads to Hey, so what if we pretend we’re dating for a bit?
What does lead to a conversation like that?
How do I even bring it up with someone who’s so clearly annoyed by my presence?
Competitive memories didn’t help. Practical and straightforward didn’t help. Maybe I flirt with her?
It’s worth a try. I’m pretty good at it, I think.
“Love to forget, huh? Because that flush on your cheeks is telling me a different story.” I playfully nudge her elbow with mine and she lets out a small growl before stalking to the end of the aisle.
Fable turns to whisper-yell over her shoulder. “My face is red because I’m pissed that you’re here.”
Well, that may be true. She seems to operate in a constant state of pissed at me, but fuck me, I love every second of it. “You missed an epic dance party last night,” I say, following after her. “We were having so much fun that Ethan played the song twice.”
“Cool.” She rounds the corner, pacing quickly down the paint aisle.
“It’s okay. You can owe me a dance next time.”
She whips around fast, and I stop just in time for her finger to land in the center of my chest. “How is it possible you’ve gotten more annoying over the years?” Her hazel eyes spark as she glares up at me.
My heart beats faster. “How is it possible you’ve gotten more stubborn?”
Her eyes burn even brighter, and the air seems to vibrate between us. She’s all sass and freckles and fire, and it’s adorable. Irresistible. Her finger digs into my chest a little farther, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m leaning closer or she’s pushing me back.
The bell over the door breaks our stare, and she shakes her head, dropping her finger. “Please go back to your own job. I’ve reached the maximum amount of time I can spend with you without losing my mind.”
Well, the flirting didn’t work, but it was the most fun. Noted.
The customer strolls slowly down the aisle, so I lower my voice. “There’s more I have to tell you.”
She crosses her arms. “You have one minute.”
“Um.” I grab a paintbrush, so I have something to hold as I stumble through my next words.
Time to go all-in, I guess. “Arthur is selling the practice, and he was originally going to sell it to Garrett. Because I guess he doesn’t trust that I’m going to stick around long enough. He doesn’t think I’m planning to stay.”
“Okay.” Her tone asks, Why are you telling me this?
“Sooo.” I drag out the word, trying to find my angle.
I move closer, giving her my best smile—the one that I know brings out my dimples.
They’ve worked to my advantage in the past, and I need all the help I can get for this harebrained idea.
“This morning, Mom showed up with the picture, going on and on about how happy she is that you and I are together.”
“Together?!” she shrieks, so loudly that the customer a few feet away lets out a startled yelp.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the customer, who scowls at Fable. Then I see Mr. Garfield peering over the top of a shelf. I reach for Fable’s arm and steer her toward the back corner of the store.
“Me and you?” She motions between us, a disbelieving look on her face.
“I mean, yeah.” I stop us beside the boxes of nails.
“You saw it. That picture looks . . . pretty convincing.” She groans up at the ceiling, and I steal the opportunity to blurt out the rest of it.
“So, here’s the thing. I didn’t correct her and then kind of also let Arthur believe it. Sort of accidentally.”
There’s a silent pause where the earth stands still. Neither of us moves or breathes, and I’d bet Mr. Garfield and the other customer are holding their breaths to listen too.
Then the earth snaps back to life and Fable’s eyes go wide. “Together?! We aren’t even friends!”
“Ouch.” I pretend to pull something from my heart and hold it out to her on my open palm. “Here’s your dagger back.”
She stares up at me, unblinking.
“We’re . . . friends.” I rub my hand over the side of my neck. “Or at least friendly.”
“On what planet?”
Wow. This is going great.
“Okay. Jeez. I get it.” I rack my brain for a time I might’ve done something friendly. “What about when I brought your favorite wine to your parents’ holiday party?”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s your mom’s favorite too.”
“What about when I drove you to the airport a few years ago?”
“Mia had a flight too. You were basically our Uber driver.”
I tip my head back and forth. “Unpaid, but I guess that’s fair since you both sat in the back seat anyway.” Shifting on my feet, I try, “Oh, what about last summer at your mom’s birthday party. We played Catan with your sisters and Finn? We were friendly then.”
“Do you not remember me yelling at you across the table? I almost knocked you out of your chair when you blocked my settlement.”
“I remember.” I smile fondly.
Another person enters the store and Fable groans. “My god, there have never been this many people here.” She looks over her shoulder, and we both spot the new customer at the same time.
“Cathy,” we whisper.
Fable turns back to glare at me, and I know this is my last chance. While I’d love to give her more time to process this information, time is a luxury I don’t have.
“Fabes, listen. What if we . . . pretend we’re in a relationship?
I’m fighting an uphill battle here, and I need all the help I can get.
” She looks taken aback, but I keep going.
“I’ll seem more settled and like I’m putting down roots around here.
Because, hell, you’re practically Fern River royalty.
Everyone loves your family.” Her lips part, a rebuttal forming quickly, but I power through to the end.
“I’m willing to help you somehow in return. Just name your price.”
Her head shakes immediately. “Theo, that’s ridiculous. And I don’t need anything from you.”
Behind Fable, I see Cathy turn our way. I only have seconds left to seal the deal. “Please.” Suddenly, inspiration strikes. “I could help with the A-frame. I worked in apartment maintenance all through college. I can do pretty much anything you need.”
For three long seconds, she just stares at me. Then she asks pointedly, “Why don’t you just find yourself a real girlfriend?”
The list of reasons why I don’t do relationships scrolls through my mind. Because I won’t let myself. Because it’s not safe. Because I can’t repeat what my dad did.
But none of that is going to come out of my mouth standing beside the nail selection at Hawkins Hardware. “I can’t, Fabes. I don’t do relationships. That’s why you might be the only solution here.”
Her head tilts. Unease twists in my stomach.
She’s either considering it or debating how she’s going to kill me with the nails beside her.
“No,” she finally decides, lifting her chin.
“You and I can barely be in the same room without bickering. No one would believe it. And I can fix the A-frame on my own. I don’t need your help. ”
“But—” I start, my voice coming out strained.
Mr. Garfield comes into view beside us. “I found the spackling, but you all seem to be out of scrapers,” he says, headed our way. Fable doesn’t give me a second glance before she turns and leads him toward the next aisle.
She’s already out of sight when I finish, “But what if I need your help?”