Mabel and Sabrina whoosh past the sequined mannequin greeter at the door, beelining for us. I kick my wobbly feelings to the corner. Now’s not the time to dissect them anyway since Mabel’s chatting loudly about a douchey broker who said he’d heard about herspottyhistory.
I stand at attention. “Who is he? Because we ride at dawn.”
“Damn right we do,” Sabrina seconds with a crisp nod.
Mabel smiles softly, but it shifts into a frown. “Love the sentiment. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get a place besides the ghost kitchen, which isn’t really a place, of course,” she says, and now’s not the time to talk about my good fortune.
We chat about her bakery situation while Leighton and Sabrina grab drinks. When everyone returns, I figure we can focus more on Mabel and strategizing some plans to help her.
But as she snags the cup of coffee that Sabrina slides her way, the steam wafting around her face, she shoots me a playful look. “So, tomorrow night you’re going to the hockey game as Ford’s…girlfriend.”
Just like that, I’m the center of attention again. Maybe that’s why I feel like I'm walking a tightrope. Because the spotlight is on me now in a big way.
Well, girl, you said you were dating a local sports star to a reporter.
The remark felt offhand at Landon’s party, but it’s notso offhand now. But if I let myself believe this romance is real, I’m setting myself up to get hurt all over again. And after investing five years of my life in one person and then watching that relationship vanish, I don’t want to get hurt again. Since I don’t even know how Ford feels—surely, he’s not tying himself in knots like I am over these fake-slash-real questions—it’s best if I don’t get caught up in the meta-ness of it all either.
“Mabel, are you keeping track of my romance?” I ask, trying to keep things light.
Sabrina lifts her fingers and sketches air quotes. “Your ‘fake real romance.’”
They’re my friends, so they know the whole reverse fake-dating thing. But with those words, my stomach cartwheels again with nerves. Everything feels topsy-turvy—maybe because things don’t feel entirely light. Or fake.
But a part of me wishes it were—because the more real it gets, the more it might hurt when it ends.
And it will.
Fake romances always do.
Later that day, I walk up the steps to my brother’s home, then stop in my tracks at the door. There’s a new doormat on the porch, and a white piece of stationery beneath it.
The doormat is beige with a black silhouette of a Doxie mix and the words—Knock to See My Wiener.
A laugh bursts from my chest. No, from deep within me. I don’t even have to pick up the card to know who it’s from. But I grab it fast, anyway, unfolding it just as quickly.
It’s Simon’s stationery. He bought my dog’s stationery.My heart climbs into my throat. I feel like I’m going to cry. A good cry, like when I watch a figure-skating competition, or a, well, a Christmas romance. The note reads:I saw this at a garden store and thought of you.
That’s it. That’s all. But it also says so much more.
I clutch it to my chest as I head inside.
28
SAPS LIKE US
FORD
Whenever I hit the ice for pre-game warmups, I usually keep my head down. I shoot the breeze with my teammates, but then I focus on the stretches. Hell, that’s why I play brain games.
After I run through a round of River Ranger in the locker room—spotting animals I pass in the on-screen water, then recalling them in order—I’m ready to tackle Phoenix. Tucking my phone into the stall, I grab my stick and head down the tunnel alongside Miles and Tyler, who’s currently describing his new foster kitten’s latest antics.
It’s hilarious how obsessed the guy’s gotten with kittens since he started fostering them with Sabrina. But I guess a woman will do that to you—make you feel all sorts of new things.
Like the woman who’s already here at the arena,for me.
I flash back to Skylar’s last text.
Skylar: Should I blow a kiss during warmups? You know, for all our new fake-dating fans? Wait—I’ve got it. I’ll come to the glass, press my fingers against it, and you can skate over and kiss the glass. Make it look desperate.
