Page 85 of Frosted Fakes

"It's not that simple."

"It is, actually." Elliott met his eyes. "You tell her the truth. That you're not interested. That's it."

Jamie laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That's rich, coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you spent weeks fake-dating Julia because you couldn't just tell her mother the truth about living here." Jamie's voice was gentle but pointed. "It means you've built an entire life around avoiding difficult conversations. It means you're the last person who should be lecturing me about honesty."

Elliott opened her mouth to argue. Closed it again. He wasn't wrong. That was the infuriating thing. He wasn't wrong at all. "Fine," she said finally. "Point taken."

"I'm not trying to be harsh." Jamie softened. "I'm just saying, maybe we're both works in progress. Maybe we both need to get better at saying the things that scare us."

"Maybe."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"I do like her, you know," Elliott said quietly. "Julia. It's not just the arrangement anymore. It's real. Terrifyingly real."

"I know," Jamie said. "But does she?" He gave her a crooked grin. "Honesty is a wee bit terrifying, isn’t it?"

Elliott didn’t have a reply to that. Jamie gave her a quick hug, stole a cooling croissant, and left. Elliott stood alone in her kitchen, surrounded by flour and sugar and the lingering scent of fresh bread.

Milly was right. Jamie was right. Everyone, apparently, was right.

She was in love with Julia Richardson.

Actually, properly, terrifyingly in love.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop being afraid of it.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Elliott was staring at her laptop. Julia watched from the doorway, tea going cold in her hand, as Elliott's fingers hovered over the keyboard, typed three words, deleted them, and started again.

"Everything alright?" Julia asked.

Elliott's shoulders tensed. "Fine."

Which was Elliott-speak for absolutely not fine. Julia had learned to translate in the past few weeks. "Fine" meant frustrated. "I'm good" meant leave me alone. And when Elliott said "whatever you want," it usually meant she was approximately three seconds from murder.

"Right." Julia set the tea down next to Elliott's elbow. "Well, if you need—"

"I don't."

Julia bit her lip. The cookbook was finished. She'd watched Elliott photograph the last recipe yesterday, a ridiculous thing involving saffron and white chocolate that had made Julia's mouth water just looking at it. The manuscript was done. Complete. Ready. She knew that. But she wondered if Elliott did.

What she did know was that Elliott had absolutely no idea what to do with the finished manuscript.

"You know," Julia said carefully, trying again, "if you want some help…"

"I said I'm fine." Elliott snapped the laptop shut. "I'll figure it out."

But Julia could see her getting more and more frustrated. She bit her lip and went over to the kitchen table, putting her hands on Elliott’s shoulders and bending down to kiss the top of her head. "Okay, " she said.

But it was still there. The Wall. Capital W. Elliott had built it up over months and years, and Julia really understood why. And she understood why it would take time to dismantle the wall. But it didn’t mean that she had to like it.

"I'm here if you need me," she murmured into Elliott’s hair.