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“You think he meant it?”
“Jen.” Another pause. “I do think he meant it, yeah.”
The pressure inside my chest becomes unbearable. “I can be there for him. For the appointments and stuff. But the other things he’s looking for...”
“What other things?”
I lift a shoulder. “I know he wants to see me fall in love and get married. But I can’t just, like, find a husband at the gas station. Trust me, I’ve tried.”
“No gas stations.” Abel’s tone is serious.
I open my eyes and see him looking at me, a weird gleam in his dark gaze. “You get what I’m saying. I want to meet the love of my life, and because Dad knows that’s so important to me, I know Dad wants to meet him too.” I sniffle. “I’d love for him to meet my babies. To see me driving a minivan. It kills me to think he might not be around for that stuff, but I can’t... none of that is in my control.”
Shit, I’m sobbing. But these things are heavy. I’m not sure I can hold them without getting crushed.
I’m bringing the tequila to my lips again when Abel reaches out and grabs the bottle. He takes a swift sip, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
Then he looks me in the eye and says, “I’m your guy.”
My brain is a scrambled egg. Maybe that’s why I just stare at him for half a beat before saying, “What?”
Looking at the bottle in his hand, he licks his lips. He has this wild look in his eyes, like he’s just as surprised by his words as I am. “You need a husband, a soulmate, whatever. I’m in.”
I laugh. Even as a strange light-headedness comes over me. “I don’t understand. Are you?—”
“Proposing to you? ’Course not. Relationships... aren’t my thing. But if you need a stopgap to keep Joe happy while you look for ‘the one’, and I need to convince him I’m okay letting someone in...” His eyes flick to meet mine again. I don’t miss the pink flush working its way up his neck before it disappears into his beard. “I’m your guy.”
My insides heave. If this were anyone else, I’d think it was a joke.
A very mean joke.
Abel doesn’t fuck around, though. He’s looking me in the eye and proposing fake marriage to me.
Why doesn’t he actually propose? For real?
And why the hell is that my first thought? I know the answer. I’ve always known it. Abel doesn’t want me that way. Tuck would murder him if he did, because he knows I want to find forever with someone and Abel definitely isn’t interested in that. Besides, Abel only sees me as his best friend’s little sister.
It’s always been a moot point. But to hear him put it so bluntly hurts more than I thought it would.
The barge is moving now, slowly cutting a path through the calm water.
“You’re serious.” I need to double check.
A single dip of his head. “It’s a dumb fucking idea, but it’s the best I got.”
“How would it work?” I blurt, far more curious than I should be about a situation that’s clearly insane.
“Guess we make it up as we go along. Say something like, I don’t know.” He uses the heel of his hand to jam the top back into the bottle of tequila. “That we always had a thing for each other, and your dad’s diagnosis made us realize life is short, so we confessed our feelings. I work on the island, plus I own my place, so you’d come to live with me since you can work remotely.”
My bodyleapsat the idea of living with Abel while pretending to be married to him. I haven’t been to his new house, the bungalow in the maritime forest he recently built. But from what Tuck says, it’s gorgeous.
Gripping the seat belt I still have on, I shake my head. “This is nuts.”
“Yep.” He passes the bottle from one hand to the other, then drapes his wrist over the steering wheel. “But if it’d make your dad happy...”
It hits me with a fierceness I’m not prepared for: thecertainty that itwouldmake Dad happy. He’d have his reservations. Suspicions, even, that Abel and I are doing exactly what we’re doing and pulling a fast one on him.
But at his core, Abel is a good man with a good heart. He makes me happy. Keeps me safe. Exhibit A: giving me a ride home even though I’m almost an hour out of his way.
