Page 96 of Fake it for Keeps

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COLT

Ihelped Hallie clean up after dinner, which apparently was a source of endless amusement for her.

“This kitchen is cleaner than a hospital operating room,” she said, running her finger along the counter like she was checking for dust. “Do you wipe down surfaces with straight bleach?”

“No, but I like order,” I said, loading the dishwasher with precision. “Is that a crime?”

“No, but maybe it should be.” She gestured vaguely at the immaculate space. “It’s very you, though.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Take it however you want it.” She laughed, that genuine sound that I was starting to crave. “I mean, my place has dishes in the sink from this morning. Maybe yesterday morning. Hallie’s shoes are always by the door. April leaves her books everywhere. It’s lived in.”

“This is lived in,” I protested.

“This is a showroom.” She opened one of my cabinets and whistled. “Even your spices are alphabetized. Who does that?”

“People who don’t want to waste time searching for cumin.”

“You use cumin?”

“Sometimes.”

“When?” she challenged.

I closed the dishwasher and turned to face her. “Are you going to mock my organizational system all night, or can we move on to something productive?”

She hopped up on the counter—the one surface I’d just wiped down—and grinned at me. “What did you have in mind?”

I tried not to think about what I had in mind. About how easy it would be to step between her legs and kiss that smirk off her face. About how she looked sitting on my counter in jeans and a sweater, more appealing than any of the models in designer gowns I’d dated.

Professional. Keep it professional.

“We need to pick songs,” I said.

“Songs?”

“For the wedding. First dance. Entrance song. Whatever other musical decisions need to be made.” I grabbed my phone. “Frankie sent me a list of options the wedding planner suggested.”

“Oh God.” Hallie’s expression shifted from amused to slightly panicked. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

“That’s why you have me.” I pulled up the list and moved to stand beside her—not between her legs, beside her. Safe distance. “Okay, for our entrance, she’s suggesting either ‘Marry You’ by Bruno Mars or ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis.”

“Bruno Mars feels very not us.” She wrinkled her nose.

“Agreed. Elvis?”

“Better. Classic.” She leaned over to look at my phone. I caught that citrus scent again. Damn it. “What about the first dance?”

I scrolled through the list. “‘At Last’ by Etta James. ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ by Frank Sinatra. ‘Thinking Out Loud’ by Ed Sheeran.

She wrinkled her nose. “Those all feel very old.”

I chuckled. “I think the word you’re looking for is timeless.”

“It’s our wedding and it’s not real, do we have to do what everyone expects?”