Chapter Eleven Jasmine
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jasmine
Is that what you’re wearing to the picnic?” Derek asked me with a raised eyebrow. I wasn’t sure if I was in the mood for his nonsense this morning. I wasn’t getting any further in the research for my project, and my plan to keep my feelings for him in check were failing miserably.
Plus, he was as annoying as ever. I heaved a deep sigh and whipped around to face him.
Derek was wearing a powder-blue polo shirt and pair of khaki-colored shorts that ended in the middle of his golden-brown, exquisitely toned thighs.
And of course, the shorts were perfectly tailored. I rolled my eyes in annoyance.
“This is a tennis dress.” I smoothed my palms over the skirt before glaring at him. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, but we are going to a firefighters’ picnic. We wouldn’t want you unintentionally starting any fires.”
“Why, husband”—I dramatically pressed one of my palms into my chest—“that isn’t jealousy I hear in your voice, is it?”
“Not at all, wife.” He averted his eyes and turned his attention to Tora, bending down to scratch behind his ear, causing his shorts to expose more of his muscular thighs. “I wouldn’t want you to accidentally flash anyone and cause a heart attack.”
“Is there anyone’s heart you’re particularly concerned about?”
“Nah.” His eyes met mine for an awkward moment.
“Well, you don’t need to be concerned about my dress. There are shorts underneath.” I grabbed my tote bag and headed for the door. “You should be worried about some sparks flying from those hoochie daddy shorts you’re wearing.”
By the time we arrived at the firefighters’ picnic, the park was already buzzing with activity. The scent of grilled meat and the sound of laughter filled the air, and I could feel the curious eyes of the locals on us. After all, we were the “newlyweds” who were the talk of the town.
Pretending to be married? Difficult enough. Adding a small-town social event? A nightmare.
“Smile, Derek,” I said through gritted teeth, looping my arm through his and flashing a pleasant grin that hid my true feelings. “We’re supposed to look happy.”
“Oh, I’m ecstatic,” he replied, plastering on a grin so forced it could’ve cracked his face. “Nothing screams joy like faking a marriage to the woman trying to steal your job.”
“Are you calling me a thief, Derek?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and adding just the right amount of mock offense to my tone. “I prefer to think of myself as your superior.”
“If that helps you sleep at night,” he shot back.
“It does,” I replied. “As well the king-size bed I get to stretch out in every night.” I elbowed him in response, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. A win, albeit a small one.
“Derek! Jasmine!” Eleanor, the town’s unofficial welcoming committee and reigning queen of enthusiasm, waved us over to a long table laden with food. She wore an apron that read “Kiss the Cook,” though, judging by her husband’s stern expression and close proximity, no one would dare to.
“You two made it! I was beginning to think you’d skipped out,” David exclaimed, wearing his own matching apron.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Derek earned a hearty pat on the back from David.
“All right, lovebirds.” Kitanya seemingly appeared out of nowhere and began to half nudge / half tug us toward a small crowd. “You two are just in time. I signed you up for all of the competitions! First up, the three-legged race!”
I turned to Derek, a grin spreading across my face. “Don’t embarrass me, hubby.”
“Oh, it’s on, wifey,” he replied, matching my competitive energy. No way was I letting him lose this for us.
We lined up with the other pairs, our legs tied together with what looked like oversize shoelaces. I leaned in slightly, whispering, “Left foot first, then right. Just follow my lead.”
“Are you seriously strategizing for a three-legged race?” he asked, incredulous.
“Unlike you, I like to be prepared,” I shot back, eyes on the prize.
The whistle blew, and chaos ensued. The man who looked like he was carved from a block of marble and spent most of his morning going for long runs was not the most coordinated partner. We stumbled, nearly fell, and I spent most of the race yelling instructions.
“Left foot! Right foot! No, your other right!”
“I know how to walk!” he snapped back, though the evidence suggested otherwise.
Despite everything, we managed to cross the finish line second, collapsing onto the grass in a heap. I was laughing so hard my sides ached, and to my surprise, so was Derek. It was a rare, genuine moment of shared hilarity.
“Not bad, partner.” I extended a hand to help him up.
“Not bad yourself,” he replied, his grin catching me off guard. For a split second, it felt real—like we were actually a team. But before I could dwell on it, Kitanya’s voice rang out again.
“Time for the pie-eating contest!”
“Think you can handle it?” I teased, knowing full well he’d rise to the challenge.
“Oh, you’re on.”
The rest of the day was a whirlwind of food, games, and laughter.
By the time the sun began to set, the park was bathed in the warm glow of string lights, and the sound of children’s laughter filled the air.
Derek and I found ourselves sitting on a bench, watching the kids run around with sparklers.
“Tora would have loved this,” I mused before bringing a cup of Pike berry lemonade to my lips and taking a sip.
“Yeah, he would’ve,” Derek agreed with a chuckle and rested his palm on my knee. My heart momentarily skipped a beat, but I let it remain, feeling the warmth and the weight of his palm on my bare skin.
“You know”—my voice was softer than usual—“this wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”
“You mean spending the day with me or pretending to be married?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes searching.
“Both,” I admitted, surprising even myself. There was something disarming about the way he looked at me just then, like he wasn’t sure if I was joking or not.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He leaned back against the bench.
We sat in a comfortable silence, the hum of crickets and distant chatter filling the gaps. For a rare moment since this whole undercover charade started, I wasn’t thinking about MasonCorp, our families, or how infuriating Derek could be. I was just… here, enjoying the moment.
“Derek?” The question was on the tip of my tongue before I even knew what it was.
“Yeah?”
I hesitated, then shook my head. “Nothing. Never mind.”
He gave me a curious look but didn’t press. Instead, we just sat there, the quiet stretching comfortably between us. And for the first time, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, this fake marriage wasn’t as fake as it seemed.
The next morning, I slipped into my running gear, pulling on a pair of well-worn sneakers and tying my hair into a loose ponytail.
When I opened my bedroom door, the sight that greeted me stopped me in my tracks.
Derek was still fast asleep on the sofa, his body twisted into a position that looked anything but restful.
One arm was draped over his face, the other hung off the edge of the couch, and his legs—well, let’s just say they were in a position that could only be described as yoga-adjacent.
His soft snores filled the room, punctuated occasionally by a mumble that sounded suspiciously like “no pickles.”
I stared at him for a moment, torn between amusement and disbelief.
How could anyone sleep like that? And more importantly, how could anyone wake up from that without needing a chiropractor?
I felt a familiar pang of pity knowing he had weeks of this ahead of him.
But not enough pity to consider switching rooms.
Nope.
Not happening.
If he had won the coin toss, would he have considered switching with me?
Probably not. Derek was competitive to the core, and I had won that coin toss fair and square.
Still, the small voice in the back of my head—the one that sounded annoyingly like Cassie—whispered, Are you sure he didn’t throw the coin toss on purpose?
I shook my head at the thought, but it lingered.
Was it possible that Derek had let me win so I wouldn’t have to sleep on the couch?
It was definitely something the old Derek would have done.
The Derek who used to sneak me extra marshmallows for my hot chocolate when no one was looking.
The Derek who went to my high school prom with me because my date backed out at the last minute.
But this new Derek? The one who accused me of stealing and constantly got under my skin?
I wasn’t so sure. The more time I spent with him, the less I felt like I knew him.
While I stood there overanalyzing the situation like it was a final exam, Tora decided to take matters into his own…
paws. He trotted over, his nails clicking against the hardwood, and began nudging me insistently toward the door.
His tail wagged so hard it was practically a blur, and his big, hopeful eyes pleaded with me in a way only a dog’s could.
“Tora, it’s overcast,” I said, as if he could understand meteorological excuses. “A walk probably isn’t the best idea right now.”
He tilted his head and gave me an expression so heartbreakingly earnest it could have sold greeting cards.
I sighed, glancing back at Derek, who was now clutching a throw pillow like it was a life raft.
He muttered something unintelligible and shifted slightly, which only made his position look more uncomfortable.
Wilbur from Charlotte’s Web, I thought with a smirk.
All he needed was a little “Some Pig” sign hanging above him.