Page 28 of Miss Belief

Teagan

Iplotted my revenge while trying on swimsuits in the ladies’ lounge. Reid didn’t know it yet, but he was soon to become my beauty treatment guinea pig. Not that getting a facial was high on the torture spectrum, but for a man like Reid, I imagined it would be an uncomfortable, somewhat embarrassing thing to endure. I sighed, wanting to be more grateful, especially since he was dropping thousands on my new wardrobe. But I couldn’t muster gratitude. The price tags made me sick to my stomach. Honestly, though, it wasn’t merely the cost that bothered me. What truly upset me was the realization that my Old Navy meets H&M wardrobe would never be good enough for Reid or his family. The thought weighed heavily, but I had to keep things in perspective. I was his fake girlfriend, and regardless of my feelings for him and the fact our first kiss had rocked my world, I couldn’t ever be anything more.

An hour later I was finally done with the tortuous enterprise. “I have no idea how I’ll fit all of these clothes into my suitcase,” I grumbled as we walked out to the car, both of us laden with bags.

He snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot. We need to get you some new luggage.”

I practically hissed at the suggestion. I was hungry, I was grumpy, and I was done.

He chuckled, dropping his stuff in the back of his Land Rover before holding up both hands in surrender. “Relax. I’ll pick something up for you.”

“Fine.” I gritted the words out and got into the passenger side of his vehicle like a petulant child. One who needed chili cheese fries stat.

“What’s your dining pleasure?”

“Fran’s Diner off of Main andSeventh.”

He glanced over, his lips twitching. “You got it.”

We didn’t speak again until we were seated in the retro booth, outfitted with everything down to a mini jukebox on the table. I loved this restaurant and all of the American diner nostalgia.

“How did you find this place?” he asked.

“Chloe and I have been here a few times. It’s American comfort food at its finest.”

“Does that mean you won’t judge when I get the pot roast and mashed potatoes?”

I shook my head. “Nope, just like you won’t judge when I eat an entire platter of chili cheese fries.”

He studied me. “Tonight’s expedition was chili-cheese-fries bad, huh?”

I closed my menu. “Chili-cheese-fries-and-a-chocolate-milkshake bad.”

When the waitress came over, we both rattled off our orders and sat back in our seats to relax. I didn’t like the way he was studying me. It was as if he could read why I’d been so uncomfortable in the fancy department stores.

“I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy shopping.”

Guilt crept up. He’d spent a lot of money, and here I was acting ungrateful. “I’m sorry for being a brat. I appreciate the clothes, I honestly do. But accepting that much money being spent on me is difficult.”

“Why?”

Such a simple question but loaded with a lot more than I wished to discuss. “Well, we’re not really dating, for one.”

He cocked his head to the side. “And if we were, would you have felt more comfortable letting me buy you things?”

“No. If anything, I’d probably hate it more.” At least in our present scenario, I could justify the expense because I was doing him a favor, and he was dressing me for the part.

“Why?”

Why did he push? “I don’t know, okay.”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe you. But if you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.”

He was giving me an easy out. But I’d made him open up about less-than-pleasant topics like his ex. I also felt like I was acting chicken, unwilling to peel a layer back. “I’m not used to receiving gifts.”

“You didn’t get gifts growing up? Christmas? Birthdays?”

Tears threatened to spring to my eyes at the way he asked. Not with judgment, but with genuine kindness. I chose to shake my head instead of verbally responding.