Chapter Four
He spots me before he reaches the steps. The second he locks eyes with me, his face lights up with a smile.
I sit up a little straighter and tell myself it’s because of my posture.
He comes up the steps and crosses the deck. When he reaches the table, he doesn’t immediately sit down. He looks at me for a moment in the same way he looked at me across the counter this afternoon, and then he pulls out the chair across from mine.
He takes a sharp inhale and his expression changes in a way I can’t quite place.
“Am I late? I’m sorry if I am, Daisy,” he says in a low voice.
Did I mention how good my name sounds on his lips?
“You’re exactly on time,” I say.
And then, for reasons I cannot explain, I add something about wizards never being late but arriving exactly when they mean to.
God, why do I have to embarrass myself by making a Gandalf joke right now?
He frowns, but thankfully, doesn’t comment on it and changes the subject.
“You look nice,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Thank you.” I smooth the skirt of my dress again. “Long dress. Makes it harder for mosquitoes to bite into my skin.”
His eyes dip down to the top of my thighs for a nanosecond and he grits his teeth. “Right.”
The waiter appears at our table and I order a glass of white wine. Broven surprises me by asking for sparkling water. I don’t ask why. It’s none of my business.
While we wait for our drinks to arrive, I pull a small notebook out of my bag.
I uncap my pen. “Let’s get down to business. I thought we could go through the basics. You know, build a story that’s simple enough to remember, but detailed enough to hold up.”
“Okay.”
Broven surely is a man of sparse words.
“Let’s start with how we met. I think the shop is easiest. You came in for ice cream, we got talking, and one thing led to another. It’s true enough to remember, but vague enough to not need details.”
“Works for me.”
I tap my pen against the notebook. “Now, relationship length. It’s got to be long enough that it’s serious, but not so long that people will wonder why no one’s met you or seen you with me yet. I was thinking two months?”
“Two months,” he repeats.
“Is that okay?”
“It’s your call.”
I have a feeling everything I suggest is going to be fine with him. I hope it doesn’t mean he’s not interested in going through with the whole fake dating.
The waiter brings our drinks and Broven waits until I’ve been served before picking up his own glass. He was definitely raised well.
“You should know a few things about me, in case someone asks. So, here goes. I grew up about two hours from here. I’ve had the shop for three years. I don’t have any siblings. I have a dog named Pope. He’s an ancient beagle who sleeps approximately twenty-two hours a day.”
Something softens slightly in his expression at the mention of Pope. “What does he do the other two hours?”
I shrug. “Eat and judge me.”
“Sounds like a great dog.”
“He really is. My parents took him on a camping trip for a few weeks. I miss him like crazy, but it’s for the best..
He gets to run in the woods while I’m busy running the shop during the busiest season of the year.
If he were here, I’d feel guilty ignoring him.
” I smile. “What about you? What do I need to know?”
He thinks about it for a while, then speaks.
“I’ve been in Cedar Lake for eight months. Came for the work, stayed on. My brother lives here. Meldrick. He’s the lake warden.”
“Meldrick’s your brother?”
“Yes.”
“I know him. Not personally, but I’ve heard of him.”
“Small town,” Broven says with a shrug.
Fair point. I write down brother: Meldrick, lake warden. “Anything else?”
“Meldrick and his wife June just had twins, so I’m a proud uncle now.”
“Wow, congratulations.”
He nods. “Millie and James. They’re gorgeous.”
The smile on his face says it all. He loves kids. I wonder if he and I would ever…
Jesus, Daisy, reel it in.
I push the thought away and fire off another question. “What about behavior during the wedding?”
“We behave like we’re madly in love,” he says.
I arch an eyebrow. “Which means what exactly?”
“We’ll be all over each other.”
I swallow. The thought of his huge green hands all over me sends heat straight between my legs. When I try to speak, my voice croaks. “Being all over each other might look like we’re trying too hard. We should definitely touch, but it can’t be over the top. Right?”
He nods, not looking convinced at all.
“And if Greg tries to talk to me alone, I’d appreciate you being nearby. You don’t have to say anything. Just exist in the general area.”
“Of course. I will be near you all the time.”
Something in the way he says it makes me think he would have done it anyway without being asked.
Broven picks up a menu. “What’s good here?”
Right. Food. I try to form a coherent thought. It’s hard because my sanity left the building the second I imagined his hands and lips on me.
“The grilled sea bass,” I finally manage to say. “And if you don’t eat fish, then the mushroom risotto is a good alternative.”
“Do you eat here often?” he asks.
“With my friend Willa, yes. Although we’ve never been here at night. We always come here to have lunch and chat.” I look at the candle. “It looks different now that it’s dark.”
“Romantic, yes,” he says.
My face heats up. If this keeps going on, I’ll have to jump into Cedar Lake soon just to cool off.
I look down at my menu, but the words all blur together.
I order the sea bass, and Broven gets the risotto. When the waiter reaches across the table to collect the menus, he nearly knocks over my wine glass. Broven’s hand is there before I’ve even registered the movement. He steadies the glass at the stem like it was nothing.
“Wow, nice save. Thanks,” I say.
He just nods and settles back in his chair.
“So, the wedding is the twenty-sixth. That’s a little over a week from now. I thought maybe we could, I don’t know, meet once or twice before? So we’re not strangers by then.”
“Yes.”
“You could come by the shop. Or we could have dinner again.”
“I’ll come by the shop.”
I sigh, feeling relieved. He’s committed and he’s not going to back out. This is going to work.
“There’s one more thing,” I say. “Greg is going to be… I mean, he’s not going to be rude. It’s his wedding after all, but he does have a way of making condescending comments. And I don’t need you to defend me or make a scene, I just, well…”
“I understand,” Broven says.
“You don’t have to do anything, I just wanted to warn you.”
“Daisy. I understand. I will defend you, whether you want me to or not. I already hate that Greg person. He doesn’t sound like a kind man.”
I look at him across the candle. He’s definitely committed. Even willing to stand up for me! And he looks so hot now, what will he look like in a tuxedo?
The food arrives and we eat. Broven tells me about the building project he’s working on, and I tell him about the mango sorbet supplier I nearly lost in April and the crisis that followed.
He talks about how much he loved my lavender and honey ice cream and that he’s going to take his brother’s twins to my shop as soon as they’re old enough to eat ice cream.
I tell him how running my shop is something I love, but that it’s also a lot of work, and that I sometimes don’t have time for simple tasks like properly cleaning my windows or watering my plants.
When the bill comes, he picks it up before I’ve had a chance to blink.
“You don’t have to pay,” I say.
He’s already putting his card down. “I’m paying.”
He settles the bill, and we walk back along the deck together. At the top of the steps, he falls slightly behind to let me go first, and at the bottom, his hand comes to my elbow so I can find my footing. It’s only two seconds, but it’s enough to feel like I’m walking on clouds.
“Where are you parked?” Broven asks.
“Just over there,” I say, pointing to a side street.
Broven walks me to my car. I unlock the door and turn to say goodnight, but he’s standing closer than I expected. From here, I could reach up and graze his tusks if I wanted to.
I don’t, for obvious reasons. I’m his fake girlfriend, and there need to be boundaries, although I’m not sure why exactly.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say instead, which is the most sensible thing I can think of to say.
“We should practice,” he says.
I blink. “Sorry?”
“Kissing.” His voice is low and even, like he’s suggesting something completely reasonable. “If we’re supposed to be convincing, we should start practicing. We don’t want our first kiss to be at the wedding.”
My brain short-circuits for a full three seconds.
“That’s…” I start.
“Practical,” he says.
Which is exactly the word I used when I suggested this restaurant. Practical. He’s using my own logic against me and the worst part is that he’s not wrong. If I grab his face at the rehearsal dinner like I’ve never touched him before, Greg will clock it in two seconds.
“Okay, for the sake of convincing Greg and the wedding guests,” I say.
He reaches out and takes my hand. He runs his thumb across my knuckles once, and my entire nervous system lights up like I’ve grabbed a live wire. His hand is enormous around mine, warm and rough from working on roofs every day.
Then he steps closer.
He’s so tall that I have to tip my chin up to look at him properly, and up close like this, in the dark with the restaurant lights in the distance, he’s genuinely the most overwhelming thing I’ve ever stood next to.
I can feel the heat coming off him. I can smell him and already know I’m going to think about that when I’m alone in my bed later tonight.
His free hand comes up slowly. He’s giving me every chance to step back, but I don’t. His fingers curl under my jaw and tilt my face up the last few degrees.
“Okay?” he asks.
I nod, because I don’t have any words left in me.
His mouth finds mine, and my legs turn into spaghetti. He kisses me slowly, and for one second I think I can handle this just fine, but then he angles his head and deepens the kiss.
Wow. Just… wow. I didn’t know a kiss could feel like this. The way he holds me so reverently and kisses me with such hunger makes me dizzy.
My hand finds the front of his shirt. I can feel the solid wall of his chest underneath and I grip. His thumb traces a slow line along my jaw, and I whimper in his mouth.
When he finally pulls back, my lips are tingling, and I’m panting.
He looks down at me. His expression is calm, but his eyes are dark and his thumb is still resting against my jaw.
“Good. That was convincing.”
I let go of his shirt.
“Yes, it was,” I say.
“Good night, Daisy.”
He steps back and opens my car door for me.
“Good night, Broven,” I say and get into my car on autopilot.
He closes the door gently, and I start the engine and pull away.
I drive home with every window down and my fingers pressed to my lips the whole way.