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“That was a rhetorical question. It’s time for you to answer your daily personal question for me.” She sets a bottle of my favorite beer down in front of me. She must have found it in the fridge. “There. I even brought you alcohol to get you through the trauma of giving me one emotionally honest answer.”
“Brat,” I grunt.
She boosts herself up so she can sit on the wide cement railing that runs around the edge of the roof, and my breath twists and flips inside me at her recklessness.
“That’s not safe,” I tell her. “You want to sit, we sit over there.” I point to a table, chairs, and an outdoor chaise behind me.
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, it’s not that big a deal.”
I know she’s right. Hell, I’ve sat there often enough myself, either by myself or with Cooper.
But for some reason, it feels different when it’s Hazel. My heart is doing weird thumping things. I want to grab her and yank her back from the edge, but I don’t want to risk startling her into losing her balance.
“If you want your question answered, we sit over there,” I say.
She makes a sound of protest, like I’m a grumpy old man ruining her fun. But she reluctantly grabs the two beers she brought, hops off the railing, and strolls over to the chaise.
I join her, this time taking the beer she offers.
How the hell does Cooper handle having a sister like Hazel? She’s not reckless, not exactly. That railing she was sitting on was almost two feet wide. Her old apartment unit had a door that locked, even if the building itself didn’t. She agreed to fake a marriage to a stranger she’s known her entire adult life but drove a hard bargain in exchange.
No, she’s not reckless. But she walks right up to safety’s far edge and peeks over to see what’s on the other side.
I take a swig of beer. I need it, but not for the reason she thinks.
“Ok,” I say, gruff. “Ask your damn question.” I brace myself for something about my family.
I hope it’s not something about my dad. But if it is, I’ll tell her the truth. That was the deal, and I don’t turn my back on deals.
“Why do you need a fake marriage?”
I frown. “I told you. My dad said—”
“I mean, why aren’t you married already?” Hazel asks. “You’re gorgeous, rich, successful, smart. Landing you would be most women’s Cinderella fantasy. So why haven’t you found something real?”
I open my mouth to give her one of my normal answers.
I’m too busy to date.
I’m not interested in relationships.
I’m not willing to inflict my family baggage on some nice girl who deserves better.
But I promised Hazel honest answers, and she’s got the ring on her finger to prove it.
I think about it. Trying to pinpoint when exactly I gave up on relationships.
“The things you mentioned—rich, successful, that stuff—they do make it easier to find a relationship. But they don’t necessarily make it easier to find something real,” I say.
Hazel half shifts in her seat to face me. Suddenly I’m aware of how small the couch is.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
I pick at the label on my beer bottle. “There was this girl I dated the last few years of college. Amy. It felt...effortless. She wasn’t trying to change me or make me better. She liked me exactly as I was. We never fought. Ever.”
“Wow,” Hazel says. She sounds both impressed, and a little skeptical.
Clearly Hazel’s smarter than I was back then.
