Page 34 of Before We Break

I stand and let Lexi take my place next to Auggie. “We’ll be across the hall. Text if you need anything.”

I tug on Noah’s forearm, forcing him to follow me to my apartment. “Time to have a little chat.”

“Fucking hell. It looks like Strawberry Shortcake threw up in here.”

“Thank you.” With a rush of satisfaction, I slump onto my plush green velvet sofa, relaxing into the comfy cushions. He hasn’t been inside my apartment since I convinced him to let me paint the walls. It’s brighter and more cheerful than it was when we moved in.

“That wasn’t a compliment, princess.”

“Whatever. Sit down, Weston. We need to talk.”

“What about?” He sits in the floral armchair caddy corner to the sofa, incongruous to his surroundings.

“If we’re going to pretend to be engaged for the next few months, we should set some ground rules. A mutually beneficial arrangement, you might say.”

There’s a brief but somehow terrifying pause, and then he says, “Ok. What are your terms and conditions, Miss Marsden?”

He’s being deliberately condescending, but I’m inclined to ignore it for the sake of the arrangement. Maybe I’m being impulsive, but ever since Lexi brought up my love life—or lack thereof—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

What would it be like to start dating again in my thirties? It’s been so long, and just the thought of trying to meet new people makes me nervous. I need a crash course. A refresher, if you will.

“We’ll tell everyone that we’re together. Show them that you’re providing a stable home for Auggie.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“You’ll teach me how to date again. I haven’t been with anyone since Lexi’s dad, and I’m finally ready to dip my toe in the water. But it’s been a while, and so much has changed.”

“They have apps for that. Bars. There’s even a speed dating thing in Starling Falls every month.”

None of that is appealing in the slightest. “Fine. Then I guess you can go there to find another fiancée.”

Another pause, longer this time, as though he’s considering the suggestion. I hadn’t meant to offer him an alternative solution, and now I’m worried he might take it.

“Fair enough. Three months.”

Sweet relief sweeps through me. “Hold that thought.” I pull out my strawberry notepad and pen from the basket under the coffee table.

“Christ,” he mutters. “Strawberry shortcake.”

I pin him with a glare and flip to an empty page.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing a contract.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Landlord. Is it?”

“Touché.”

On the top of the page, I write Noah and Clio’s Engagement Contract and underline it with a squiggle.

“Three months starting today. Four public outings per week.”

“What exactly constitutes a public outing?”

“Anything, as long as we’re seen together. One of them should be a date, just the two of us, to fulfill your end of the deal.”