I bite back a smile. “I guess I could save your life.”
His grin softens. “So you’ll come?”
I hesitate for half a second. Not because I don’t want to go, but because the thought of going to a party with him for reasons unrelated to our arrangement has me reeling. “Yeah, I’ll come.”
His shoulders relax. “Cool. I’ll pick you up.”
We walk back toward the blanket together, and I can feel three sets of eyes tracking us. As soon as he walks away, Mabel leans forward. “Well?”
I shrug. “He invited me to a party.”
“Oh,” says Mabel. “I thought it was going to be something juicy.”
Meredith hums. Then she says, casually, “Speaking of juicy, it’s kind of weird Little Birdie hasn’t posted about any of us lately.” Her eyes flick to mine. “I mean, you’d think with everything going on, there’d be something.”
Dot shrugs. “Maybe the new person got bored.”
“Or ran out of material,” Mabel adds.
Meredith’s gaze lingers on me a fraction too long before she smiles faintly. “Maybe.”
My chest tightens.She knows. But how could she, Rue?
Unless she was the one who entered you in the first place.
By the time Ezra pulls into my driveway that night, my nerves are wound so tight I feel like I might snap.
Not just because of the party. There’s also the post I still haven’t scheduled for today, and Meredith’s tone this morning. I can’t help but feel like she knows my secret, and it’s making me uneasy. I’ll just have to find a moment at the party to repost something trivial in my inbox to ease her suspicions. Surely, Ezra will be focused on the road while we’re driving and won’t be able to see what I’m doing on my phone.
He knocks twice, and I grab my purse from the hook in the entryway before I can overthink anything. Mom is sitting on the couch with her laptop, answering work emails, and she cocks her head at the door. “Let him in. I want to have a word.”
“Mom, no,” I groan.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
When I open the door, Ezra is already standing on the porch. “Hi, Mrs. Sullivan,” he says, all polite charm.
Mom stands from the couch, setting her laptop on the cushion. She meets us in the doorway and studies my fake boyfriend like she’s evaluating a suspicious product. “Ezra,” she says. “You’re tall.”
“…Thank you?”
“And you drive?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Then you drive carefully.”
“I will.”
“And you’ll have her home at a reasonable hour.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you won’t hurt my daughter again.”
Ezra freezes.
I close my eyes. “Mom?—”
