Page 45 of Fake it for Keeps

“It was an honor,” Colt corrected, but there was something hollow in the words. Like he was reciting a script he’d told himself for years.

Our food arrived, and we ate in silence for a few minutes. The restaurant continued to buzz around us, people still watching, still whispering. But in our little bubble, it faded into background. I did my best to remember all the manners I never used. I did not want to be on the front page of some magazine with my elbows on the table, chewing with my mouth open.

“Maybe the old man wasn’t perfect, but damn, do I miss him,” Colt said suddenly, his voice rough.

I looked up to find his eyes had gone distant, unfocused. He cleared his throat, visibly pulling himself together.

“We should get out of here,” he said abruptly. “Away from all these prying eyes.”

I looked down at my half-eaten meal. It was so good, but the man sounded desperate. I knew that feeling. I could empathize.

“Where would we go?”

“I don’t know. Anywhere but here.” He signaled for the check. “Unless you want to stay and get stared at like we’re zoo animals.”

“God, no.”

Our server rushed over.

“Check, please,” Colt said.

“Sir, is there something wrong?”

“Check. Please.”

“Yes, sir.”

I got to my feet. I could see his desperation to get out of the restaurant. I didn’t know what happened, but clearly something was bothering him. He helped me with my coat and guided me out of the restaurant.

For just a moment, I saw the man Frankie was trying to tell me to look for.

And God help me, that made him harder to hate.

Don’t fall for it, I reminded myself as we stepped out into the snowy night.

Take his money. Break his heart. Get even.

The mantra felt weaker now. Far less conviction.