“I’m checking out the performance space,” he said.
I’d taken the virtual tour of this room with Ashley last week. “She’s putting the head table by the windows.” I pointed. “And the mic for toasts right next to it.”
“Are you busy now?” he asked.
“I’m supposed to be helping my mom decorate the bar for happy hour,” I said. “But I was looking for you instead.”
I walked to meet him.
As soon as I got close enough, Cooper leaned in to appraise my neck. “Nice,” he said, nodding. “No mistaking that.”
“Are you kidding me?” I said. “Nobody—not one person—has guessed what it is.”
Cooper frowned.
I started counting on my fingers. “I’ve gotten blueberry juice, and fruit smoothie, and food coloring. I’ve gotten poison ivy, and ‘allergic to shellfish,’ and bedbugs. Grandma Dodie insisted it was a mosquito bite. But a total ofzeropeople have asked if it’s a hickey.”
“Amosquito bite?” Cooper demanded, like that affronted his masculinity.
I shook my head. “We went through all that for nothing.”
And then, like the memories of “all that” were playing in his head, Cooper said, “Yeah.”
“So that’s why I’m here,” I said, back to business. “The hickey thing was a total fail.”
“Did Finn see it?”
I flared my nostrils. “He thought it was eczema.”
Cooper scratched the back of his neck. “Thatisa total fail.”
“We need a new plan,” I said. “And before you storm off again and make me chase you around the boat, I want to make it clear that I amnotabout to propose that we fake date each other.”
“Didn’t know that was a possibility, but okay—”
I cut him off. “Just that we fakeflirt.”
A pause. “Fake flirt?”
“Yes.”
“With who?”
I gave him a look. “Witheach other.”
But Cooper shook his head.
“What’s with all this negativity?” I demanded.
Cooper just kept shaking.
“Fakedatingdoesn’t help either of us, see? Because then we’re not available to other people.”
Cooper sighed.
“But fakeflirting,” I went on, “has all of the upsides and none of the downsides.”
Cooper squinted. “Does it?”
