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I shot him a confused look. My plan for the following day was to dig into the files I’d brought with me and map out what I needed to accomplish this week. Maybe scope out a place where I could get in a much-needed workout.
“Trust me, the diner is the center of life in Lovewell. If we go there and chat with a few people, by lunch, the entire town will know every detail we feed them. Then we can focus on the investigation.”
I admired his efficiency, but anxiety pressed against my ribcage. “I thought I’d have a few days to get settled before we had to take our fake relationship out for a spin.”
“We don’t have time to waste,” he asserted. “So we should probably spend some time getting to know one another.” He frowned like it was the last thing he wanted to do.
“I’m an open book, Gagnon. What do you want to know? Fears? Dreams? Favorite sexual position?”
His cheeks flushed pink. “Let’s stick with the standard-issue dating stuff.”
“Hmm…” I tapped my chin. “Okay, I’m thirty-four and an Aries. I love coffee and dark chocolate. Growing up, I played tennis competitively and the flute badly. My parents are divorced. I’m an only child. My mother lives in North Carolina now, and my dad is an asshole, whom I avoid as much as possible.”
“Okay…”
I shrugged. He wanted an info dump, so an info dump I gave him.
“And I suffer from migraines. They come on and sometimes last for a day or two. With medication, they’re mostly under control. But stress makes them worse.”
“I’m sorry.”
I cleared my plate, enjoying how wide his eyes got while I rambled. If we were going to sell this “relationship,” he needed to do his part to get to know me.
“I manage. Let’s see, what else? I love Indian food, and I’ll argue until my dying day thatDie Hardis a Christmas movie. I’m really good at Scrabble and never wear thongs because they feel like a nonstop wedgie. I like to lift weights, but I run too. Even if it’s boring. And when I’m feeling sad, I usually buy shoes online.” I turned from where I had been loading the dishwasher. “Anything else?”
He shifted on his bar stool and grimaced. “No, that seems like quite enough for now.”
“Great. Do I get to hear all your deep, dark secrets?”
He pinned me with his signature glare. “No. I assume you’ve done your research on my family and me. As for personal things, I work a lot, and I occasionally do lumberjack competitions with my brothers.”
I smirked. Oh yes. Liv and I had found the photos. Two words: drool-worthy.
“I like to read and hike, and in my twenties, I traveled a lot.”
“The piano?” I asked, gesturing to where it stood in the empty living area. “Do you play?”
“Yes. Started when I was five. It’s important to me…” His voice trailed off, and he ducked his head, focusing on the surface of the island in front of him. “Helps with stress.”
“Give me some more details. What’s your favorite food? Movie? Band?”
I snagged the cooled wok from the stovetop and got to work scrubbing, staying half-turned toward him as he put his elbows on the countertop and gripped the ends of his hair.
After a long moment, he looked up at me. “My mom’s banana bread is my favorite food. But after that, probably sushi. Not that there’s a single place to get sushi within a one-hundred-mile radius. I always likedTerminator. And all the superhero movies too. Not sure I have a favorite band, but I minored in music in college and listen to a lot of classical.”
Okay, I could work with this. Sure, his life was fairly boring, but that meant I probably wouldn’t have to worry about major fake boyfriend curveballs. We could make this work for a few weeks.
I got the last of the dinner dishes loaded into the dishwasher and filled up my water bottle. “Okay, then. I’ll be up bright and early, ready to be the best fake girlfriend you’ve ever had.”
“Do you have everything you need? Is the house okay?”
“Yes. I was surprised when I saw it. It’s lovely. Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know, the Batcave? Maybe a Patrick Bateman–style penthouse with glass and stone? You know, good surfaces for cleaning up blood.”
He shook his head, clearly weary of my antics.
