“Not only that, but I’m going as Sutton’s fakegirlfriend.” My laugh fades out as I process my parents’ body language.
Dad straightens and glances over at Mom, trading a worried look. They have a silent conversation between the two of them in a matter of seconds. Apparently, their years of separation haven’t impeded their abilities of parent-to-parent telepathy.
Mom is the first to speak. “Laine, are you sure about this fake-girlfriend plan?”
I frown, caught off guard by their reaction. “Of course I am. It's just for fun. So he doesn’t have to show up alone.”
Dad sighs, no whisper of his proud smile left. “I understand you want to support Sutton, but pretending to be in a relationship can…blur the lines. It can complicate things. What if emotions get tangled up? What if it becomes more real than you intended?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I insist, narrowing my eyes. Their concern washes over me like a cold, chilling wave. “I appreciate your worry. I really do. But Sutton and I are best friends. We know this is just a silly thing to make the wedding easier for him.”
Dad's face softens, and he reaches out to grab my hand. “Just…be mindful of genuine emotions.”
We talk for a while longer about the trip’s details, but I can still see hints of worry in my parents. Not wanting to let their hesitation rub off on me, I rush through my meal, eager to get back to Sutton and his calming presence.
When I get back to my apartment, to-go box in tow, Sutton lifts his head off his pillow on the floor, giving me a crooked smile that shows off one dimple. He ruffles his brown curls with one hand. “Good morning,” he says, hisvoice raspy. Looking at him now, dimly lit by the TV, I can understand a bit more why my parents are concerned.
Now that Sutton is no longer my TA, it’s easier to see him objectively. And objectively, he’s…I don’t know.Handsomeis too simple of a word. Gorgeous, I guess. A strong bone structure and nose, piercing eyes, and those rare but endearing dimples.
“Are you sure you want to come to Montana with me?” Sutton asks. “Now that you’ve had a night to think it over?”
I hand over his food, the smell of the fresh pancakes and bacon filling my tiny apartment. “I’ve already been watching YouTube videos to learn how to lasso. Can’t let that go to waste.”
Sutton chuckles, leaning his head back and smiling at the ceiling. There’s a moment of silence between us, but it’s not the comfortable kind we had during our study sessions. Now, I feel the weight of my parents’ warning hanging in the air like a bad omen. But when Sutton turns his head, directing his smile back toward me, the coiled tension between my shoulder blades releases.
I wouldn’t dare ruin our friendship, not for the world.
9
SUTTON
The week passes too fast.Before I can get my feet under me, it’s Friday, and Laine and I are spending our last evening in the city on her fire escape, sitting cross-legged. The scattered gleams of the city lights dance like fireflies—yellow, white, and red. The sounds of New York are lively, even though it’s past sunset, from honking horns to the discordant music of a street busker and the rumble of traffic. I inhale, noting the scent of nearby restaurants, exhaust from cars, and Laine’s perfume. I want to remember every detail of the city when I go back to Montana.
Beside me, Laine is going through her packing list, triple-checking everything on it before handing it over to me. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I need?”
I glance it over. “You’re bringing six dresses?” I look up to see Laine nodding enthusiastically. “You know we’re going to a ranch, right?”
“To aweddingon a ranch. I need options. I packed plenty of casual clothes, too.”
I shake my head slowly, fighting a smile. Laine has casual clothes, sure, but she neverlookscasual. Her style is sounique, with bright colors and patterns and plenty of texture. I never know what to expect from her, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear the same exact outfit twice.
Looking back at the list, I ask, “How are you going to bring five different hats?”
“I’ll pack the beret and baseball caps in the suitcase, and I’ll wear the two brimmed ones on the plane.” She folds her arms over her chest. “There’s no rule against wearing two hats in an airplane.”
“Six pairs of shoes?”
“My red cowboy boots, ballet flats, two pairs of heels, Mary Janes, and sneakers.”
“Laine…”
“Sutton…” she says, mimicking my exasperated tone. “You know I can’t make up my mind on much of anything. Are you really that surprised to find out that I’m a chronic overpacker?”
“Fair.”
“Besides,” she continues, “how many books do you have packed up for the trip, even though you have a fully-stocked Kindle?”
I laugh. “Alright, another fair point.”