Page 164 of Fake it ’Til Fall

She crouches, picks up the tea, and hands it to me. “How was Forrest?”

“Present.”

“Daisy.”

“Large. Grumpy. Useful with crates. Terrible at pretending not to brood near flowers. The mums resented him.”

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

The answer comes out too fast.

I immediately hate myself.

Not regular hate either. Full-body, why-am-I-like-this, someone-please-revoke-my-speaking-permit hate.

Bea’s eyebrows lift.

“Fine,” I amend. “Yes. Something happened. Several somethings. A whole municipal district of somethings. But not in the way you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking the fake relationship became less fake.”

“Then exactly in the way you’re thinking, but I dislike your accuracy.”

Bea’s expression softens in a way I do not appreciate. “Was it bad?”

“No.” I set the tea tin where it belongs. Under A. Because apparently standards still exist somewhere. “That’s the problem.”

“Good is the problem?”

“Good would have been manageable.” I grab another tin, then forget what it is. Peppermint. Great. Even the tea is calmer than I am. “Good is a movie you watch once and recommend to people at brunch. This was not brunch-friendly. Definitely not PG-13. Maybe not even suitable for a room with curtains.”

“I don’t need details.”

“I wasn’t offering details. I’m a lady.”

“You once described a customer’s breakup as ‘emotionally damp bread.’”

“That was literary.”

Bea waits.

I sigh and press the tea tin to my chest because apparently herbal inventory is my emotional support object now.

“It wasn’t bad. He wasn’t bad. He was—” I stop, because what am I supposed to say?

That I’d give him five stars, must repeat, excellent service, emotionally devastating amenities, would recommend to women with questionable judgment and a tolerance for grunting?

That he was everything a woman hopes for and absolutely nothing a woman with a fake-dating contract should discover in her childhood bedroom?

That he was hungry in a way that never felt like taking?

That he asked for words before touching me and meant it?

That afterward, he looked at me like he understood I had handed him something fragile and didn’t intend to be careless with it?

Absolutely not.