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“He’s got lung cancer. Stage three.”
The Kindle slipped from her fingers, and she scrambled to catch it before it slid between the seat and the center console. “What? Are you serious?”
“Yeah. The doctors think he has a decent chance of survival—something like thirty percent, I think. But if you ask him, he’s pretty sure he’s dying. Doesn’t let me forget it, either.”
Lyndi’s hands shot out, and she waved them in the air in front of her. “Wait, wait, wait. Stop the car.”
“Lyndi—”
She gripped the door handle, breathing deeply. “Beau, stop the car.”
Even though I had no idea if this was a car-sickness thing or because she wanted to get away from me and my baggage, I safely maneuvered the car onto the side of the road and put it in park.
Before I could even open my mouth to ask her what was going on, however, she bolted like the car was on fire and slammed the door behind her.
“Lyndi,” I yelled, checking my mirror to make sure it was safe to get out on my side before launching out after her. “What are you doing?”
She spun, arms outstretched. “What areyoudoing? Did you seriously tell your dying father that you have a girlfriend because he made you promise to find love so he wasn’t afraid to leave you alone? Is that what happened?”
“Whoa, hey…” She was absolutely right, but I was surprised she’d drawn the conclusion so fast or was this upset about it.
“Of course, you did. It’s pretty freaking obvious that’s what this is.”
“Hang on.”
She charged up to me, one finger stabbing the air. “No,youhang on. This isnotokay. We’re not going to spend the weekend at your father’s house andlieto him like this.”
“We’re not lying,” I blurted, stepping closer, palms out.
She sputtered and shook her head. “Uh, I’m sorry, did I miss something? Are we or are we not in a completely one hundred percentfakerelationship?”
“We are, technically.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she narrowed her eyes at me. “Okay, then I don’t see how we’re not lying.”
“Because I didn’tnecessarilysay it was a relationship when I told my dad about us.”
“What?”
My throat tightened, her judgy tone mixed with my own stupidity wreaked havoc on my senses. “I simply said I was seeing someone.”
“I don’t get it.”
I blinked at her, gesturing to her standing in front of me. “I’m lookin’ at you, aren’t I?”
Her mouth fell open in tiny, smooth increments, so low that I thought it might actually disconnect and fall at her feet. “Beau Devereux, that is a stretch, and youknowit.”
I groaned and paced away from her, dragging my hands through my hair. Then I turned back and stepped toward her again, hoping she could see—or maybe feel, I didn’t know—how freaked out my dad’s promise had made me. “Okay, okay, listen. He asked if you made me happy. I told him you do. Does that count?”
This made her step back. “That I—what?”
“There are little truths here, Lyn. Okay?” I moved forward again until we were inches away, not touching, but pretty dang close. “Little truths. I’m seeing you. We’re in a relationship, it just happens to be a fake one. You make me happy, even though I know it’s temporary. If we stick to the little truths, we’re not really lying. We tell him how we really met, we tell him we’ve had a connection for a year but didn’t want to act on it. But we don’t make any promises for the future.”
“That we… Those are little truths?”
“Yes. But even though those things might be true, this is ending, and we both know it. Right?”
She stared at me for so long I thought the ten-hour drive seemed like minutes. Then she furrowed her brow and backed up, hands in the air. “Whatever. Let’s just go.”
