Page 24 of His Fake Fiancé

She nodded and started to walk, the gravel crunching under her boots. He walked behind her, his mind a bit of a jumbled mess. The realness of the situation was beginning to crash in around him, and he wasn’t sure what to do with everything.

Was he doing the right thing? Was this really such a brilliant idea? This whole fiancé thing had seemed brilliant when he’d thought of it a couple of weeks ago. And why the hell was he staring at Claire’s ass?

He forced his gaze up and straight ahead. They cleared the side of the house and the guest house came into view. Like the main house, it was covered in white siding, with green shutters on the windows. It had a small porch at the front.

As they got closer, a weird unease settled into his gut. And he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why. This was a solid plan, one that was going to get him custody of his daughter.

He glanced at Claire. She was moving forward, her back ram rod straight, her gaze locked on the guest house. He might be feeling better about this whole thing if Claire didn’t look like she was marching to her execution.

Chapter 8

Claire walked up the stairs on the front porch of the guest house, each step sending her stomach spiraling farther and farther down into her boots. She swallowed and pushed open the front door.

She hadn’t been in the guest house for a long time. It was a little on the small side, but had always had a homey vibe to it. The door opened into the living room. She stopped, hovering on the threshold.

This felt like something huge. One massive step. One she wasn’t sure she really understood, but knew, deep down, she probably wasn’t ready for.

“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice came from really close behind her and she jumped, giving a small, surprised squeak.

“No.” The answer came out as a croak. She took a deep breath and stepped into the house.

It was really very anti-climactic. The walls didn’t shake, the ground didn’t open up, the ceiling didn’t rain down on them.

The overstuffed grey sofa looked inviting. There was a big-ish TV mounted on the wall, and a small fireplace perpendicular to the sofa, on the far wall. When it was lit, it would provide a warm little circle of cozy comfort.

An island lined with stools stood behind the sofa, giving the space a nice open concept. The kitchen was new, with light wood cabinets and marble counters. The stainless steel appliances were high end and gorgeous. She wasn’t a gourmet cook by any means, but she had some tried-and-true recipes she might give a whirl to while she was here.

“The bedroom’s this way.” Jake scooted around her and headed toward the kitchen.

That’s right, the bedrooms and bathroom were down the small hallway off the side of the kitchen. She followed him, all of her internal organs floating up into her throat. But it was fine. She just needed to keep repeating it to herself and maybe one of these minutes she might actually believe it.

Jake disappeared through the second door to the right, her suitcase still clutched in his hand. She sped up, rushing down the hallway. Only because he still had her suitcase, which had her stuff in it, including her underwear and personal things. She just didn’t want him to open it is all.

She burst into the room in a rush. Jake had placed her suitcase next to the bed and was just standing there with his arms crossed. Her gaze darted to the bed and then back to him. It felt like all of the air had been sucked from the room.

He stared at her, and for some reason, she couldn’t figure out the look on his face. Normally she could read him pretty much like a well-loved paperback. But here, now, she had no idea what he was thinking. It was unsettling.

The air around them grew thicker, tendrils of tension pulling between them. The urge to take the few steps toward him, to reach out and touch him, burned through her. His eyelids drooped a little, and the way he was looking at her made her skin feel hot and tight.

Unbidden, her gaze flicked to the bed. It was queen sized, and covered in the softest looking feather duvet. The cover was made of grey and black plaid flannel, which would make it cozy and warm. She looked back at Jake. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she licked her lips.

Jake’s gaze followed the movement of her tongue, and she was positive his breath hitched. Which couldn’t be right. Because, while she’d spent most of her life secretly crushing on Jake, he’d never shown the slightest interest in her. It must just be a trick of the light, or her imagination running wild.

Suddenly, she didn’t know what to do with herself. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation—she often felt awkward and out of sorts—but still it pulled at her in a different way today. Something about this moment, the tension in the air, the proximity of the bed—it all made her acutely aware of what she was getting herself into.

She and Jake, living together. In each other’s space in a way they’d never been before. Sure, there’d been sleepovers and camp outs when they were younger, but as they’d gotten older, those things fell by the wayside.

When they’d become teenagers, and her feelings for Jake had changed, she’d gotten nervous around him, which caused her to freak out. She’d pulled back on their friendship a bit, both afraid he would see how she felt, and terrified he wouldn’t.

He’d never said anything about the distance she’d created, so she didn’t try to course correct. Just kept everything on an even keel, because rocking the boat had never done anything but gotten her wet and miserable.

But this, this was different. It was personal and intimate. And she had no idea what to do with any of that when it came to Jake Callahan. For all of her wishes and dreams, when faced with the reality of the situation, she realized she was wholly unprepared and completely terrified.

“Knock, knock.”

The tension between them shattered, like a sledgehammer through a plate glass window, the shards still there, but the fresh air making breathing possible. Claire turned to see Mrs. C standing in the bedroom doorway, Olivia balanced on her cocked hip. Mrs. C’s smile had a strained edge to it.

Disappointment rippled through Claire. She knew Mrs. C would be unhappy about this whole thing, and she never wanted to make her unhappy. It warred with her need to make Jake happy, the high and low wavering back and forth inside her like a seesaw.