Page 34 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“Keep eating,” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “You know, for a man reading a romance novel under duress, you’re very bossy.”

“I’m not reading under duress.”

“You looked like I handed you a live grenade.”

“I took the book.”

“Only because I emotionally cornered you.”

I scoff. “Like I’d be scared of you.”

She gapes. “I can be scary.”

“You’re five-five and holding a sandwich.”

“Five-five and a half,” she corrects, lifting the sandwich like evidence. “And women have done terrifying things with carbohydrates.”

Puck huffs beneath the table.

Daisy points at him. “See? He understands.”

“He wants your leftovers.”

“That’s still support.”

I look at my dog. “You’re embarrassing us.”

Puck’s tail thumps once against the floor.

Daisy smiles down at him.

This smile is tired.

But it’s hers.

I have the sudden, stupid thought that I’d like to see it in the morning light.

Not café light. Not under these lamps with the rain making the windows blur the city into something softer than it is.

Morning.

Her in my sweatshirt. Puck at her feet. Coffee she’s ruined with syrup. A book open on the table. No phone buzzing from people who use her competence like storage space.

The thought comes out of nowhere and hits hard enough that I shut the book.

Daisy looks over. “Wow. Already defeated by chapter one?”

“No.”

“Too many feelings?” She takes another bite of the sandwich, watching me over the edge of it like she’s waiting for me to confess to a crime.

“Too many adjectives,” I say.

“That’s called atmosphere.”

“That’s called wasting time.”