“We dated when we were kids and reconnected a few weeks ago after you heard I was moving to Honey Grove. I fell for your bullshit again, and here we are.”
I reach up and scratch the back of my neck. “I think we should come up with something more exciting and romantic.”
She tilts her head and narrows her brows disapprovingly. “No, it’s practical. If people are going to believe our story, then it needs to be somewhat believable.”
“What about,” I say, grabbing the edge of the table for dramatic effect. “We met at a diner one morning. You werebuilding the cutest house of waffles, and I offered to help you put a door on it, creating the perfect meet-cute. We have an amazing first date, but then I learn you have short-term memory loss from a car accident, so you forget everything that happened the day before. So, I have to win your heart every single day because you keep forgetting about me.”
“You just described the plot to the movie50 First Dates,” she observes blandly, not giving me so much as a smile or a polite laugh.
I roll my lips together. “Shit. Do you think a lot of people have seen that movie?”
“Maybe a few,” she says, sarcastically, “but we shouldn’t risk it either way.”
I smile, shaking my head. I like it when she’s playful, even if it’s covered up with a bitter frown the entire time. My new challenge for the summer is to make her smile—for real and not as my fake girlfriend.
“Fine, we’ll go with your boring story. Any other ground rules sweet—shit, sorry,” I say, stopping myself before the words can leave my tongue.
Emery’s eyes flicker with the slightest bit of amusement before smoothing her expression back into the stone-cold indifference she reserves for me.
“That was close,” she says, lifting her water to her lips, “but I’ll give you a C plus for effort.”
I slump back in my seat, stretching my legs out underneath the table. “A C? Now that’s cold even for you. I deserve at least a B for those expert censorship skills. Scratch that—I deserve a whole ass ribbon.”
She sets her glass down slowly, swiping her tongue across her lips to collect any drops of condensation. My eyes watch the movement like a hawk. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a lot?”
“A lot of fun,” I offer, nodding to Rosy as she stops by to top off our water glasses. “Don’t mind her, Rosy. She’s just somadly in love with me, she doesn’t know how to deal with it.”
Rosy snorts and walks away, muttering something about ‘these damn kids’. When I look back at Emery, she’s pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead.
“This is going to be a shit show.”
“Correction,” I chime in, pausing to take a quick sip of my water. “It’s going to beourshit show.”
Emery tosses her head to the side and shoots me another icy glare. “You’re going to drive me insane this summer, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” I grin, mindlessly playing with the tiny bowl of individual jams. She scowls back at me. “Don’t worry, Bambi. I promise I’ll keep things professional.”
She takes a deep breath and stares at me. The dark, focused green of her eyes softens, and her sixteen-year-old self shines through the cracks. She might act like she hates me, but I know there is a part of her that wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t curious if I’ve changed after all these years. And maybe I’m the dumbass for proving I haven’t, but if we were going to get through this, I need to keep things light.
Emery blinks and sits up straight in her seat. “If I’m going to survive the next couple of weeks without killing you, I need you to try your hardest not to annoy me every second we’re together.”
“And I need you to lighten up a little bit, Bambi. This doesn’t have to be hard. We both know I know how to have a good time.” She raises both brows, signaling me to correct myself. “Meaning—we can have fun together if you just give me a chance. Maybe we’ll even end this summer being friends.”
Her jaw clenches, and I’m afraid I’ve hit a nerve. Her lips stay glued together, but right as I’m about to start apologizing faster than an out-of-touch celebrity, she opens her mouth.
“One more rule,” she says, before making sure to makeeye contact with me. “If this ever stops feeling fake, then we end our agreement immediately. Deal?”
The rule takes me by surprise. It’s a good one, but it pokes at my insides in an uncomfortable way. One I’m not eager to overanalyze.
“Deal,” I repeat, holding out one hand to seal our deal with a handshake. Emery’s forehead creases as she looks at my hand like it’s a foreign object. Somewhere along the line, she decides it’s okay and wraps her hand around mine.
She gives me one firm shake before quickly pulling her hand back to safety, but it doesn’t feel quick enough because my hand tingles from missing the loss of her smooth skin.
I curl my fingers in a tight fist and look at her with a lazy grin.
“Careful, Bambi. If you keep touching me like that, I’m going to get the wrong idea.”
“I want to know everything, Knox Alexander Cooke,” my brother’s girlfriend says, cornering me in her and Henry’s kitchen.
