Page 32 of Fake it With Me

“And the contract protects everyone.”

“Exactly. The contract means we both know what this is and what it isn’t. There are clear boundaries, a defined timeline, no room for misunderstandings or hurt feelings.” He looked at me. “At least, that was the theory.”

“Theory is always cleaner than reality.”

“Isn’t it, though?” He refilled his glass, offered to top mine off. I shook my head. “I haven’t dated much since the divorce. Haven’t had time, really. I’ve been trying to be the best dad I can be while growing the business. Every spare hour went to either Daisie or Sullivan Yachts.”

“And now?”

“Now with this custody stuff, I’m actually working less. It killed me at first. I’m a control freak about the business, always have been. But I hired some managers to run things at the office, delegated more of the administrative work. It gives me more time to actually build boats, which is what I love, and more time to be with Daisie.”

“That’s a big sacrifice.”

“It’s not a sacrifice if it’s for her. She’s the most important thing in my life. Everything else is just stuff.” One side of his mouth tilted up. “Besides, it turns out the business runs fine without me micromanaging every detail. Who knew?”

I laughed. “Revolutionary concept.”

“Apparently.” He studied me over his glass. “What about you? I think I saw on your bio you’re from Oregon.”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Portland?” He took a drink and laughed. “Sorry, I know the state is far larger than Portland, but I’ve only heard of that one city.”

“You’re not far off,” I said. “I’m from an itty-bitty town on the coast. Not too far from Portland.”

“Your family still there?”

I sighed and nodded. “Yes and that’s one of the reasons I choose to live on this side of the country.”

He laughed again. “I take it you’re not close.”

“We are. Were. It’s not like I don’t like them. It’s just they’re kind of obnoxious.”

“I think that’s a requirement for parents.”

“No, no. My parents got divorced two years ago. After twenty-five years of marriage, they decided they were done. Which, fine, if you’re unhappy, get divorced. I support that. But then they both immediately started dating new people and acting like teenagers about it.”

“Acting like teenagers how?”

“My dad started dating this woman who’s barely older than me. She convinced him to buy a motorcycle and get an earring. An earring. The man is fifty-three years old.” I shook my head. “He told me he had an earring when he met my mom. And I’m sure in the nineties it was cool, but ugh. And my mom is dating some yoga instructor who’s helping her ‘find her authentic self’ or whatever. They post couple photos on Instagram with captions about twin flames and spiritual journeys.”

He tried not to laugh. Failed. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It’s mortifying. And they’re both so petty about it. My dad bought the motorcycle to make my mom jealous. My mom started the Instagram to show my dad how happy she is without him. They’re like children.” I took another sip of bourbon. “So I fled to the opposite coast. Grad school was a convenient excuse, but honestly, I just wanted to be anywhere they weren’t.”

“I don’t blame you. That sounds like a lot of unnecessary drama.”

“Right? Life is complicated enough without adding that kind of bullshit to it.” I met his eyes. “I spent my whole childhood watching them fight and make up and fight again, and I promised myself I’d never be like that. Never be with someone who made everything so damn complicated.”

“Hence the appeal of a simple, contractual arrangement.”

“Yep. No drama, no mess, just a clean transaction with a defined end date.”

“How’s that working out for us?”

I laughed. “Not great, if we’re being honest.”

“Not great,” he echoed, and there was something in his voice that made me look up.