Page 104 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Somehow, this is worse.

Daisy: Fine. Back to the hardware store.

Forrest: No.

Daisy: You said it wasn’t the worst idea I’ve had.

Forrest: That wasn’t an endorsement.

Daisy: It was close enough. I’m emotionally flexible when praise is scarce.

Forrest: Hardware store does feel staged. Think about it, Day. There’s no way a couple would take a picture unless they’re figuring out flooring and the floor would be the only thing they’d photograph.

I stare at the message.

Rude.

Also devastatingly correct.

Daisy: You’re only saying that because you’re afraid I’ll make you hold a level with romantic conviction.

Forrest: I’m saying it because no one from Winterberry is going to accidentally see us buying screws in Boston.

Daisy: Please never phrase anything like that again.

Forrest: You chose hardware.

Daisy: I chose domestic credibility.

Forrest: You chose grout-adjacent theater. Cute, but not what’s needed.

Then I set the phone down because I need to remember this is logistics.

Not flirting.

Not whatever strange little pulse moves through my apartment every time Forrest answers me like he’s annoyed and paying attention in equal measure.

The phone buzzes.

Forrest: Honestly . . . and I’m going to regret this. If we do this, it should be in Winterberry.

My hand stills.

Winterberry.

The word changes the room. The coffee smells colder. The notebook on my knee stops looking like planning and starts looking like proof that I am willingly walking back into a town that watched me leave.

Daisy: That sounds terrible.

Forrest: Yes.

Daisy: Comforting.

Forrest: I know you don’t like it, but it’s practical.

Daisy: I hate when practical has a point.

Forrest: Same.