Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
No. Things are never okay with him. My chest tightens, but I don’t like this feeling. “Family,” I say, admitting that much as I move next to her, helping once again. “You know how it goes.”
“I told you about my terrible ex the last time I was in your office. It’s the inner sanctum. Don’t you hold out on me.”
I’m not used to being called out like that, but I’m getting used to it with her and I’m liking it. “He’s complicated. We don’t have…the best relationship.” It can’t hurt for my fake girlfriend to know that.
“Same. With my dad. I don’t like how he treated my mom when they were together.”
I flash back to what she said about Brady in my office last week. How people treat you how you let them. How I feel like I understand her more now from that simple admission. “Same here. My dad took advantage of my mom. Of everyone. I have to be on my guard.”
“I get that,” she says, her warm eyes filling with sympathy as she finishes adorning my desk. “You have to look out for yourself.”
“And your family,” I add.
“Absolutely.”
Darkness flashes in her eyes, and solidarity too. In this moment, in my office, I suddenly feel far closer to my fake girlfriend than I’ve felt to a woman in a while.
Maybe even closer than I felt to her in the bistro the other night. So close, I almost invite her to Mac’s recital in the early evening. She made me a wreath, and she tasted like heaven.
The words are forming on my tongue. Would you like to come with me? But we just practiced a kiss and laid down the rules of our fake romance—and attending a recital my daughter’s performing in wasn’t among them.
I thank Fable for decorating the door instead, for the gift of the homemade wreath, and most of all, for her time. Then, before I say anything more and before she can tease me in the way that’s my undoing, I show her to the door and dial into my meeting.
I leave work at five to attend the recital with Felicity and Bibi, where I do my very best to shove thoughts of Fable aside. When Mac sings a new arrangement of “Let It Snow” with the rest of her class, it’s easy to focus just on my kid. Singing’s not her thing. I doubt she’ll sign up for a Christmas concert again. But Mac wanted to this year, probably to make her mom happy.
I admire that about her. Even though she’s wise beyond her years, and more strategic than most people I know, she also has a soft heart, my daughter. I record a short video so I can send it to my mother. When the song ends, I turn to Bibi and whisper proudly, “She did great.”
“She sure did,” Bibi says, then nods to the video. “You should send that video to Fable.”
“It’s for Mom,” I point out.
“But I’m sure Fable would love to see it too.”
“I’ll do it later,” I say, then turn my focus back on the concert. But I’m thinking once again about Fable. Maybe I will send her the video after all.
14
WHEN THE FAKE BOYFRIEND FAKE BOYFRIENDS
Fable
This evening after work I head to Elodie’s Chocolates in Hayes Valley to meet my sister for the best part of planning her wedding. We’re picking out gifts of chocolate as favors for the guests.
But a funny thing is happening to me as I walk down the block to my friend’s chocolate shop. My brain keeps replaying that three-second kiss in Wilder’s office earlier today.
I can still feel the confident brush of his fingertips across my cheeks, the way he held my chin, how he coasted his lips across mine. My skin tingles from the memory of an innocent kiss that didn’t feel innocent at all. It felt more like a hint of an after-dark kiss.
When I reach the store, I square my shoulders, determined to leave that kiss behind as I go inside. Charlotte’s already here at the counter chatting with Elodie, who’s decked out for the holidays in a rockabilly dress in red, white, and green stripes.
“Elodie has Christmas truffles for us,” Charlotte calls.
“And you can taste test as many as you want,” Elodie says from behind the counter.
“Perfect,” I say as I reach them. “I’ll take one of those and one of those and one of those and one of those and one of those.” I point to pretty much every chocolate in the store.
Elodie gives me a double-dog stare. “Don’t challenge me. You know I’ll let you try everything.”
Instead she hands us a tray with five truffles. My sister and I head to a table to sample them.
“This one is amazing,” Charlotte says of a hot cocoa-themed bonbon.
And here I go again. Thinking of Wilder and his hot cocoa secret, and now this kiss secret. But is the kiss a secret? I don’t even know, so I stuff a piece of chocolate in my mouth instead. “Mmm. This is good,” I say, trying to focus on the taste of the chocolate rather than the flavor of my boss’s kiss.