Page 55 of The Fake Out

I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned in my seat, curling one leg under me. “I’m already grown up. But I always thought I’d leave Two Harts and live somewhere big. Don’t get me wrong, there are good parts about living here. But I’ve always felt a little like an outsider. We didn’t move here until I was ten and I guess I never quite felt like I fit in.”

“It seems like you fit in just fine.”

“I’m not going anywhere for a while. Got to get Iris through college and, with Mama needing help, I’ll be in Two Harts for the foreseeable future.” I tapped my chin with a finger. “I guess I have one more question, don’t I? I am reserving the right to ask this question at a later date.”

“Bold move. I like it.”

I grabbed the door handle. “I guess I’ll see you later this week?”

“Hold on.” He jumped out of the truck and pulled my door open. “A gentleman would walk a lady to her door at the end of a date.”

“Even a fake date?”

“Especially a fake date when someone is spying on us from the window.”

“Again?” I glanced behind me just in time to see the curtain flutter. “I’m going to kill whoever that is.”

“Don’t do it on my account.”

At the front door, he turned so his back faced the window, his body effectively protecting me from prying eyes.

“So. Thanks for dinner,” I said, trying to ignore the relationship between my stampeding heart rate and his proximity.

“I’ll send you the bill for the case of Pepto-Bismol I’m going to pick up on the way home.”

I laughed. “That’s fair.”

“You ready?” His arm wrapped around my waist, heavy but not unpleasant. “Gotta make this look good.”

“Maybe I don’t kiss on the first date,” I pointed out, feeling myself tense.

The porchlight illuminated his twisty little grin of mischief. “I promise not to kiss and tell.”

“Just do it.”

“Such sweet words.” His head dipped and stopped close my ear, his breath warm and, even though I didn’t want to, I shivered a little. “You smell like cookies.”

“Vanilla extract behind the ears. Nothing fancy,” I said, irritated my voice sounded breathless.

“I like it. It suits you.” He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of my forehead. It was a nothing kiss, more a press of lips than anything, feather light, and yet it felt oddly intimate.

He straightened. I frowned; he grinned.

“See you later, book lady.”

“Yeah, sure.” Then, without moving an inch, I watched him walk back to his truck and drive off.

TWENTY-TWO

Someone spelled fruit right. ’Cause they put U and I together.

—AARON Q.

The next morning, Mama was already up, dressed, and a breakfast of piping-hot apple cinnamon oatmeal (my favorite) was waiting for me. She sat across from me at the table, sipping her coffee and watching me over the top of her mug with a smile.

“What?” I asked. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, honey. You look adorable. Is that a new t-shirt?”