Page 12 of Falling for your Fake Boyfriend

I chuckled as I carried the bag to the car and got in while she said her goodbyes. After a few minutes of hugs, whispers, not-so-secret surreptitious glances my direction and a flurry of giggles, Isla walked to the car. I hopped out to open the door for her.

She tucked a strand of silky hair behind her ear and gave me a shy smile as she slipped into the passenger seat.

An awkward silence followed as I rolled down the gravel driveway.

“Stop!” Isla said.

“Did you change your mind?”

“Nope.” She searched for the door handle. Admittedly, it was not easy to find. “Oh my gosh, if someone has to jump from a burning vehicle—well, at least they died in a fancy, minimalist car.”

I reached over to open the door.

“You smell nice.” The words came out, but I don’t think she’d meant to say them out loud. That glowing pink blush returned, then she hopped out of the car and ran to meet her sister, Layla, who’d run down the drive with a large canvas bag in her hands.

Isla gave her another hug, and they laughed about something, then she ran back to the car. She leaned in. “Seriously? Even the outside door handles are invisible?”

I put the car in park and walked around to the rear passenger door. I lifted the flap and the door opened. I took the heavy bag. “What’s in here? Shoes?”

“Something far more important,” she said as she sat back in the passenger seat. “Road trip snacks.”

I sat back down behind the wheel. “We’re not traveling through the outback. There are restaurants and diners along the way.”

She lifted her chin. “We’ll see.”

We reached the two-lane road between rows of shops. “Guess this is Main Street?” I asked.

“Yes, but we call it Juniper because Main is so predictable.” She pointed out the side window at a small, glass-front café with tables and umbrellas on the patio. “My sister, Aria, owns Whisper Café.”

“How many sisters do you have?”

“Go right here. I can show you a shortcut to the freeway. There are five Lovely sisters. Aria is the oldest and I’m right behind her. Then there’s Ella, who you just met. Next is Ava. She’s in the rainforest searching for fungus. Layla is the youngest, which sometimes is more obvious than she’d like it to be.”

“Oh, turn right here. Left,” she added briskly.

I sat up straighter. “Right or left?”

“Left. I meant turn right here, but I meant left. At the mailbox that’s shaped like a whale,” she said urgently. I turned the car left.

With our journey moving in the correct direction, she melted back into the seat. “These seats are soft.”

I had my phone connected to Bluetooth. My playlist was a mix of country and rock classics with a little hip-hop thrown in to keep me awake on a long drive. “Is this music all right? Too loud, too soft?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“So, you live in the beach cottage with all your sisters?”

“Aria has her own place closer to the café. And Ava travels a lot, so it’s mostly Ella, Layla and me. It belonged to my grandmother, Maeve. We called her Nonna.”

“You loved her a lot, didn’t you?” I asked.

She looked over at me. “How did you know?” She twisted under the seatbelt to look straight at me. “Did you do one of those background checks to make sure I wasn’t, I don’t know, the daughter of the Unabomber?”

I chuckled. “No, why?Areyou his daughter?”

“No, just the daughter of Harold Lovely. He’s retired now and lives in Florida with his wife, Helen. She was our ‘stepmother.’” She lifted her fingers in air quotes. “Our dad used to travel a lot. He scouted out locations for the Shake and Burger chain.”

“Why the air quotes when you mention your stepmother? Was she one of those stereotypical wicked stepmothers?”

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