Page 41 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

We all spin around to see a fuming man in a Hawaiian shirt.

The owner: Bill.

Rusty clears his throat. "We'll take our lunch to go."

CHAPTER TWELVE

ASH

My friends are all in the conference room to talk about my promised social media blitz. No matter how much I insist they aren't allowed to get involved, they insist that they are and they will.

Benevolent jerks.

My phone rings with a FaceTime call, and I have to clear a lump from my throat when I see it's my parents. I haven't had a chance to tell them how things went Friday, and by "haven't had a chance," I mean I'm avoiding them.

I find it rude that avoidance doesn’t fix all of life’s problems.

I psych myself up and then paste on a bright smile. "Hey guys!"

"There's our girl," Greg says, grinning big enough to fill every smile line on his rich umber skin.

"How are you, sweetie?" Mom asks.

"Good, just busy at work," I say.

"You work so hard. How are the girls? I miss them!"

"You should take a break from grandparent duties and come out for a week," I say.

Mom and Greg swap a look. "That's a great idea. You can work from anywhere, right hon? And I have some vacation days to use."

"Absolutely," Greg says. "We need to see the 'before' on your Maple Street project, anyway, so we can appreciate the 'after' when it's all done."

He sounds so sure, my smile almost hurts. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"What? Why?" Mom asks.

"There was another proposal, and this one has a lot of money behind it. But I talked the chamber of commerce into giving me a two-week trial period to implement some strategies and see if they affect people’s bottom line. I worked on them all weekend, and I'm feeling positive about it all." Mostly.

"You do your best, but don't wear yourself out, sweetie. That sounds like a big project."

"Rusty'll help," Greg adds. "That boy would walk across hot coals for you."

"He's the best," I agree. "But I don't want to put anyone out."

Greg and Mom look at each other. "I don't think that's possible where he's concerned."

I sure hope not. But the memory of that kiss makes me less inclined than ever to test that theory.

After a few more minutes, I end the call and am back in the Jane & Co. conference room. I'm having a hard time meeting Rusty's eye, so I go with what Millie calls "opposite action:" when you have that kind of day when you want to turn off all the lights, curl up, and shut out the world, you do the exact opposite to overcome it. Turn on the lights, shower, exercise, get ready, all to regulate those self-defeating emotions.

I'm doing that with Rusty. I want to avoid him, so instead, I'm trying to act like I always do. I'm being random and goofy and occasionally affectionate, except it's coming off as super awkward, and I don't know why it's not working, but it's making everything harder to the point that he pulls me aside when we take a break.

"You okay?" he says. His hand is on my elbow, and why am I suddenly cold everywhere else except there?

"Nothing!"

"Huh?"

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