SKYLAR
Is this what it’s like to be lucky?
To strut through life, to point perfectly painted nails at anything you want, and say,I’ll take that.
Then to have it?
If so, sign me up. Because that’s how the last several days have gone.
My podcast numbers are climbing higher and higher—we passed seven thousand subscribers yesterday. Who knew a fake romance would align so perfectly with podcasting? The show’s basically dating and design now. And that’s fitting, since my dating is by design.
Other good things include the hot sex I had last night when Ford came home from his road trip. I may have just happened to be out in the backyard, letting Simon out shortly after he returned. Deliberate, of course. But what’s the point of having a fake fling with a neighbor if you don’t let yourself enjoy neighborly access? It didn’t take any convincing—or engineering—for him to come over.
The second he spotted me, he walked right up to thefence, rested his strong arms on it, and roamed his eyes up and down me, undressing me immediately. “What are you doing right now?” he asked.
I glanced at my dog, then jutted out a hip, asking, “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Getting ready to head inside so I can fuck you up against the kitchen table.”
I ran through the door so fast.
But Ford didn’t only bang me against the kitchen table—he bent me over the bed too. After, he curled up with me and confessed he’d listened to every episode of my show since I’d met him. I told him I’d watched all his games in the last few weeks. Then, he asked me more about the show, and how I started it, and I asked him about the stretches he does. I hardly wanted to go to sleep. This morning, he whipped up a pineapple smoothie at his place and brought it back over to me, chiding me for not having a doormat. That was so him—both the smoothie and the chide.
Honestly, it’s really good to be me right now.
Especially on the work front. My carpenter friend Priya managed to get the kitchen cabinets removed from the Sausalito home and moved them down to the garage. Everything is coming up roses. Or autumn leaves, really. Golden and ruby ones crunch under my feet as I play Wordle with my brother—he solves it in fewer tries, the smarty pants, then he texts me tomake up the guest roomsince he’ll be coming home for a few days later in the month for a symposium on carbon emissions.I’ll give you the big dog bed and some kibble, I tell him. We rib each other for a few more texts. When I turn the corner onto Fillmore Street, heading to meet my friends for coffee, my phone rings.
Mama Devon.
My spine goes ramrod straight. I still want to impress her. Even though we’ve been getting along just fine, she’s still—for all intents and purposes—the client. And if she refers me to her friends? It’ll be huge.
I answer right away as I pass An Open Book, the holiday display in the window catching my eye. I should probably grab a Christmas romance later today. I eat them up and then watch them on Webflix too. Does Ford watch Christmas movies? Has he seen my favorite one—Merry Little Kissmas? Would he want to?
I shake off those thoughts with a cheery, “Hi, Maggie.”
“Hello, Skylar. I just wanted to tell you that those photos of the reclaimed wood cabinets are very nearly perfect.”
The operative words beingvery nearly. We talk through the tweaks she wants—just a few changes here and there, maybe a different door handle style. I duck under the awning of a perfume shop and take notes on my tablet.
“That’s not too much, is it? Just a few little changes?” she asks, her tone making it clear it’s not a question.
“That won’t be a problem.”
“Lovely. So many other designers said my vision was a problem. But it’s so much easier with you.”
“That’s the goal—to make things easierfor you,” I say with a smile. It’s a genuine one. Sure, Maggie is an opinionated client. Sure, she likes to make changes too. But it’s her house. It should feel like a little slice of heaven to her. My job is to make her dreams come true.
“Speaking of easy things…do you know what you’re going to wear to the gala?”
That’s a good point. It’s coming up soon. “I guess I need to figure that out in the next week.”
She launches into suggestions, then adds, “Will you mention it on your podcast too? The gala?”
I blink. “You’re…listening to the show?”
She chuckles. “Of course I am. I’ve been listeningandwatching from the beginning. How do you think I knew that you and my son would be perfect for fake dating? It was clear you had a crush on him.”
Oh. That makes shockingly perfect sense. She would do that—she’s nothing if not the ultimate mastermind. There’s something deliciously ironic about the fact that we’re not entirely faking it for her.
