“Words are everything.” He speaks clearly, strength pulsing in his tone. “I’m willing to put myself on social media for the chance to have my work out in the world. My words.”
“But isn’t that exactly what you’re already doing with your book? Allowing people into your mind? Your heart? That sounds a hell of a lot more intrusive than posting on social media.”
“They’re characters.” He taps his head. “I made them up. A work of fiction. All resemblances to persons, places, or things, both living and dead, are entirely coincidental.”
“Thank you for reciting your copyright. No, but seriously, think about it. Maybe this will help you wrap your mind around the idea of being on social.” I sit up straighter, excited. I’d rather Klein be receptive to our marketing initiative, or at the very least not despise it. “Authors put a piece of themselves into their work, even when they write fiction. It’s like...the book is a woven piece of art. What are those things called? With a loom?”
“Tapestry.”
“Right, that. It’s like you’re sitting at a loom, and you’relooming.” I mime weaving.
He laughs.
“And you’re inserting microscopic pieces of your soul into the words. Onto the pages. Then you’re giving it away, to whomever picks up the book. You have no control over that. You do not know who’s picking up your soul vis à vis your book.” My shoulders lift, hovering nearmy ears for a second before dropping. “It’s not all that different from social media.”
“Social media is performative. I hate that.”
“Don’t be performative. We talked about this. Be unapologetically honest.”
“While posting about fake dating you?”
“Yes. Tell the world this is fake.” I tap his knee. “Just don’t tell my sister. Or her friends. Or my brother. Or my parents. Or my ex.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds. “But have you considered the possibility they might somehow come across my account?”
“I have. And I don’t think it’s likely to happen. The platform has two billion users. And while we’ll strive to give your account traction and make it one to follow, it will be within the right space and for the correct audience. My family does not fall into that category.” About this, I’m certain. I climb off the couch. “I feel like having a glass of wine. You?”
Klein shakes his head. “I’m good. I’m headed to work pretty soon.”
“Do you want something to drink? Water?” I bat my eyelashes. “Kombucha?”
He smiles. “No, thank you.”
I indicate for him to follow me, so he gets up and trails behind me into the kitchen. “What’s it like working in a bar like that?”
“Loud,” he answers, wandering over to my collection of cookbooks. “Do you cook?”
I answer with a nod as I’m on tiptoe, pulling my favorite wineglass from a top shelf. A small part of mewouldn’t mind Klein coming up behind me and reaching for the glass. Would he brush against me, his front to my back? Would I feel his chest pressing into my shoulders? I remember all too clearly what it felt like to have his heated chest under my seeking hands. Sloppy or not, I liked having Klein under my palms.
He stays put, and that’s a good thing. This situation has the potential to be messy enough. Why throw gasoline on an inferno?
Taking the bottle of wine from the fridge, I pour half a glass and turn around, leaning back against the lip of the counter.
I’m stunned, but only briefly. Is this reallyKleinin my kitchen? Asking get-to-know-me questions so we can pull off a week of fake-dating hijinks?
I swallow a mouthful of wine. “What was the next question on your list?”
“How do you relax?”
“I guess that depends on what kind of stress I’m experiencing. If it’s just the everyday stuff, I watch videos of people making fancy ice.”
Klein’s eyebrows cinch dubiously. “Fancy ice? You mean like nugget ice or the square cubes?”
Pulling my phone from my back pocket as I walk closer, I tell him, “Prepare to be amazed.”
But then it’s me who’s amazed, or maybedumbfoundedis the better word, because I’m so close to Klein now that his scent overwhelms me. The warmth coming off his body is distracting. Disarming.
Shaking my head and forcing myself to behave, I bring up the video, then press play. “This is my favorite one. Shehas seventeen molds, and she keeps them organized in her freezer.”
