I run my hand through my hair, ruffling the blond strands. “Think about it. It makes sense. You don’t want to face your family’s questions, so let’s pretend I’m your boyfriend. It’s only for a couple of days,” I say and shake my head. “Shame it’s not for longer. I’m like mould in dating terms. I grow on you if given time, and I’m very lush. What do you think?”
His mouth is open, and he seems incapable of making words, so I provide some more. It’s one of my many talents.
“Think about it. It makes sense. We both know each other, don’t we?” He nods. “I mean I know you put Branston Pickle on your chips, you like running because it clears your mind, and you love fantasy books as long as there’s a happy ending. What’s my favourite book and food?”
“The Miss Marple books because you like how it proves gossiping can actually benefit society, and fruit and fibre cereal all day long, but only if I eat the banana chips,” he says. He immediately looks surprised, as if he didn’t realise he knew the answers.
Warmth blooms in my chest. Harry knows more about me than my ex did. His knowledge was restricted to how many fingers it takes to open me up. Newsflash: it was always one more than he thought.
“Banana chips are the food of Satan.” He snorts and I lean forward. “Do you see what I mean?” I coax. “We cantotallypull this off. What do you think?”
I hold my breath as he considers my proposition.
He taps his finger on the counter, his face showing a multitude of expressions that are hard to read. Then he looks at me. “Do you really think we can do this?”
I resist the desire to sag in relief. “Ofcourse, we can,” I cry.
“And you wouldn’t mind pretending to be with me?”
I stare at him. “Not at all. Why?”
“Well, it’s a lot to ask of anyone.”
“You didn’t ask. I actually conceived the plot and offered myself up for the job,” I say grandly, not mentioning the advice I had from a senior citizen and a Mills and Boon library book.
“It sounds even more alarming when you put it like that. Do you think you could put up with me for that long?”
His tone is diffident, and I’m filled with rage at whoever made him doubt himself. I lean forwards, getting a whiff of sandalwood and spice from his cologne.
“Listen,” I say, keeping my voice low. “You are wonderful. You are funny and kind and clever. It isnevera job to be with you.” He stares at me, and I notice that his green eyes have copper flecks in them which means that I am standing far too close. I clear my throat and jump back. “So, what do you think? Is the romance plot on?”
“Is thewhaton?”
I wave a careless hand. “Oh, just a book I read,” I say airily. “What do you think, boyfriend?”
He studies me and then smiles. It’s wide and so charming. “You’re on.”
I resist the urge to do cartwheels and hold out my hand instead. “Shake on it.”
He hesitates for a long second and then slides his hand into mine. His olive skin is tanned against my own pale, freckled skin. His hand is big and his fingers long, and for some reason there’s something momentous about this. A tingle runs down my palm, and his hand tightens on mine. When I look up, his eyes are dark.
“Thank you, boyfriend,” he says hoarsely.
CHAPTER TWO
The doorbell gives its discordant ring that always sounds like a dying duck because the battery is running down.
“Oh mygod,” I groan. “He’s here.”
“Who’s here?” my mum calls as she comes into my bedroom. “Jesus Christ, did we have a home invasion?” She looks around at all the clothes spread everywhere.
“It’s Harry,” I say shortly, shoving some briefs into my already overstuffed case.
“Harry from the shop? What’s he doing here?”
I stop dead in my panic and stare at her. “I’m going for the weekend with him to his cousin’s wedding. Do you ever actually retain a tiny word I say?”
“Is thatthisweekend?”
