He wants to talk aboutthatex-boyfriend?
The one who used to date Davis’s friend Ellie?
The one who was still dating Davis’s friend Ellie when he started dating me, making methe other woman?
The one I still can’t think about without flushing with shame at knowing what I did to Ellie?
“What does Patrick have to do with this?”
Davis blinks.
This one’s actually a startled blink.
And we’re running out of time.
I need to come clean.
But more importantly, I need to get the damn sheriff becausesomeone broke into my museum.
Except Nigel’sright here.
Even if he hasn’t said anything, I can feel him here, making my skin crawl and guilt and shame eke out of my pores, and that’s enough to make me shiver.
And that’s the shiver that tells me what I have to do next.
The footsteps get closer.
Nigel’s voice answers Ray, confirming I’m not shivering for nothing, and I shiver harder.
And then I take my life into my own hands—apparentlyagaintoday—and I fling myself at Davis.
I can explain the Steve thing away.
Nigel apparently already knows who Davis really is, so I’ll tell Nigel I couldn’t tell Grandma that I was dating a guy who was in the boy band Bro Code fifteen years ago. That it was hard enough to tell her that I was dating a guy with tattoos and thick facial hair and a manbun, because Grandma doesn’t approve of any of those things.
I’ll say I made up a fake name for Davis to keep Grandma from having a complete heart attack, since we all know those boy band guys go around sleeping with everything on two legs and sometimes sheep too—yes, also Grandma’s words—and an innocent thing like me deserves someone who’s only had sex for practice with those loose women and not farm animals.
AlsoGrandma’s words.
As grateful as I’ll always be that Grandma stepped in very early in my childhood to raise my brother and me, I’m horrified that I used to think sentences like that were normal.
And I’m taking a special delight in what I’m doing now because it’s complete rebellion against the things she taught me to be afraid of.
I’m notjustflinging my arms around Davis.
I’m also pressing my lips to his, squeezing the hug tighter than I should, waiting for him to shove me away—at least I’ll have a great breakup story and an excuse to tell Grandma that I’ve decided to go live in a convent or something—but he doesn’t.
That by itself is shocking enough.
But what he does next?
The man—my pretend boyfriend who doesn’t know he’s my pretend boyfriend—slips his arms around my waist, angles his head, and kisses me back.
Soft mustache and beard tickle my mouth and chin.
Warm, firm lips suckle at my lower lip.
I taste toasted marshmallow and smell pine needles.
