Page 23 of Strictly Pretend

“How do you know what I want?” she asks, and I have to admit she has a point.

“I don’t,” I reply honestly. “The barista did though.”

She turns her head to look over at her and smiles.

“So…” I take a sip of my Americano. “Have you ever noticed that hardly anybody drinks hot coffee anymore?”

“What?” Two tiny frown lines appear between her brows.

“We’re the only ones. Everybody else is drinking cold coffee.”

“I have noticed,” she says, looking surprised. “I hate cold coffee.”

“Me, too.”

For a second she looks at me as though she’s trying to work me out. “Why are you here, Brooks?”

“Because your granddad told us to come get coffee.” I take a deliberate sip of my Americano.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t mean here as in the coffee shop. I mean here, as in Oak Hollow. Why did you drive all the way here? Again.”

“Because you won’t answer my emails and you’ve blocked my calls.”

“You’re behaving like a stalker ex-boyfriend,” she says. “And I only have room for one of those. Put your application in and I’ll come back to you when there’s a vacancy.”

“Will is stalking you?” It’s my turn to frown. I don’t like that one bit. Sure, I was an incidental player in the whole howling at the moon escapade, but I was on her side.

I liked that too much.

She sighs. “No, not really. I mean, I’ve blocked him too. He wants to talk about Cassie’s wedding. To make sure I won’t make a scene.”

“So why don’t you tell him you won’t be there?” I ask.

“Maybe I will.” She tips her head to the side. “Maybe I’m planning on turning up in an ancient wedding dress and having a whole Miss Havisham style moldy food table just to remind him how he broke my heart.”

“Are you?”

“Jeez, you’re so literal. No, I’m not. I’m not going, so I don’t need to talk to my ex. Job done.”

I’ve heard of lightbulb moments before, but I’ve never experienced one. But this eureka moment is so damn blinding I blink at the sheer genius of it.

What was it that Linc said? Something about me understanding what she wanted. Or needed. And now I know exactly what she needs.

I just don’t know if she knows. Which is kind of irritating.

“You’d let him win?” I ask her.

She shoots me an annoyed look. “I’m not letting him do anything.” There’s an off-note to her voice though, as though the idea of him getting one over her doesn’t sit well.

“But he’ll think he’s won,” I persist. “Just by you not being there. He’ll think he’s the reason.”

The furrows in her brow deepen. “No he won’t.”

“Trust me, he’s a man. He will.”

She takes a bite of her flapjack, her teeth bared. And I feel this rush of elation, because I’m right.

There are some crumbs on her lips. Without thinking, I reach out to wipe them away. As soon as my fingertips graze her mouth her breath stutters.

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