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“Social media is not my area. I don’t even have any accounts.”
“That actually works in your favor. So there’s nothing anyone can point to and ask why I wasn’t in your family Christmas photo last year or whatever. But you and I would have photos—I can make some of those albums of our ‘vacations’ and our ‘holiday time.’ And we’d have little inside jokes and maybe mementos from dates, little remnants of the ‘cute’ things you’d do for me all the time that I’d want to remember.”
As she keeps raising her fingers and making air quotes, I start to think—really think—about what I’m getting myself into with her.
I don’t do cute dates—or any dates, for that matter—so she’s got her work cut out if she plans to manufacture evidence of that.
“And the biggest thing, obviously, is that we have to have some cute stolen moments where we’re ‘accidentally’ seen in public making out or whatever.”
I roll my eyes, and she holds up her hands, innocent.
“Hey, I’m not the one who needs evidence. Trust me, letting people think they’ve caught us in the act is the best way to establish relationship cred. Or get fired, in my case.”
Should it worry me that she has no commitments preventing her from committing to a fake relationship next month? Or that she doesn’t seem bothered by how her last job ended?
The idea of parading her around town in front of the busybodies who will gossip about us turns my stomach. But if it will allow me to keep custody of Scout, I’ll do it.
I’ll get to know my fake fiancée so we can be caught making out in public. A sentence I never thought I’d say.
CHAPTER 5
Callie
The town of Willow Springs looks exactly the way it sounds: serene and picturesque, with acres of farmland, a small central main square, and a deep blue lazy river running along the base of the rolling hills. It’s easy to imagine getting lost here in the slower pace. Something in the horses walking along the bridle paths in town, how the sun seems to perch on top of the hills before sliding down the other side in the afternoons.
I suppose I can stay here for a few weeks, long enough to put some shine on Loveland Ranch and corroborate Luke’s story about our relationship. Then I’ll move on. Very on-brand for me.
Luke keeps his head down as we walk back to our cars, even as he tosses out names and tiny details about the shops and people along the way.
“You’re the crankiest tour guide ever. Seriously, I’m good without a list of who works at the barbershop and who owns a second-generation feed-and-tack store. Like I know what a feed-and-tack store is.”
He stops walking and stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re…different than people around here.”
“Why, because I don’t want you to blather just to fill the air space?”
“Because you don’t know about feed and tack, for one thing.”
“Well, Finicky Fiancé, why don’t we start with basics? No more blather. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about being a cowboy.”
“I’m not a cowboy. I’m a rancher.”
“If it looks like a cowboy and walks like a cowboy…”
He lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Fine. Tell me about ‘ranching.’” I air-quote it just to rankle him. “Give me your all on drought-tolerant plants, watering systems, animal care… Assume I know nothing. Because I actually know nothing.”
He squints, confused. “Is that really how you want me to repay you for this favor, by telling you about watering plants?” He looks stressed, and I can’t understand how my taking an interest in his job could be this agonizing.
“Yes. I’m the official, unofficial chief of hype and cuteness for our family ranch, so the more I know, the better I can package it and entice people to come.”
“Do I even want to understand that sentence?”
Dying to throw his stiff gate off balance, I bump his hip with mine, but it’s like ramming into a pile of steel. His muscles could eat my muscles for breakfast. They wouldn’t even notice.
