Page 64 of You, As You Are

It’s all pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend.

But bloody hell she didn’t foresee what was coming for her.

Iain slipped his hand out of hers and placed it on the wall right beside her head, leaning over her as he swirled his tongue around the head of his ice cream. Her eyes fell to his mouth, and her lungs filled as his truly excellent lips rolled the white, creamy traces off of them, sending one delicate tingle through her body.

This wasn’t what Maisie had been expecting. There was flirty and then there was …this.

“What did you want to pretend to talk about?” His voice was something distant in her distracted ear.

Maisie swallowed down hard. “We need to orchestrate a breakup.” Iain’s brows raised and wrinkled at the words she’dblurted. “Nainmade me go to lunch yesterday, and all of the women were grilling me about you,” she said. “I couldn’t do it. You need to break up with me.”

This whole plan had been her idea but already it was too much. If they carried on this way – him being broody and touchy and her falling for it – then shewouldfall for him. That wasn’t on the cards. Absolutely not possible. Iain wouldn’t reciprocate the feeling, he’d said that hecouldn’t, so it just wasn’t fair.

“Why do I have to be the prick?” he demanded, albeit quietly.

“You expect them to believe thatIwould break up withyou…? Wait, maybe that’s better? I won’t get any pitying looks if I was the one to end this.”

“But it’s fine that I get them instead?”

Maisie popped her hip, careless about how loud she was. “Oh please – you’re the man. They’ll look at you and tell you that you’ll bounce right back. They’d look at me and tell me how it’s such a shame that another nice one has gotten away from me. It’ll be a nightmare.” She couldn’t have laid outdouble standardfor him any clearer.

Slowly Iain drew back and gave her space, still licking his ice cream like Maisie wished someone would her?—

“Fine. When do you want to do this?” he asked.

“It needs to be when they’ll all be around to hear about it.”

“Tomorrow?”

“That’s Valentine’s Day.”

“So?” Iain said flatly, his shoulders tense again.

“You’re going to be that guy who breaks up with his girlfriend on Valentine’s Day?” Maisie hoped she was wrong. “Do you want them to hate you?”

“I thought you were going to break up with me in this scenario?”

“Agh. Right.” The ice cream melted down her finger and Maisie cleaned it up with her tongue. There wasn’t going to be aright way out of this; not one which quelled more questions than it stirred.

Iain brushed the tread of his boot across the grass. “Our Valentine’s Day was last month, anyway,” he said.

“Huh?” Maisie was sure that of all things, the currentdatewasn’t something she’d get wrong.

“Dydd Santes Dwynwen,?*” Iain elaborated, “the Welsh day of love, is January twenty-fifth.”

Twenty-fifth of January.Why did that date ring a bell in the back of Maisie’s brain?

“You didn’t celebrate?” she assumed.

Iain cocked his head, giving her another of his dry looks. “What do you think?” The answer was as clear as crystal on his face. “I was helping you move into your flat, anyway.”

Maisie’s brow creased. “On your version of Valentine's Day?”

Iain grunted something affirmatory. He’d said he had no plans that day, but choosing to spend a ‘day of love’ with someone who was practically a stranger was—Wait. Iain hadn’tchosenanything. That whole morning had been orchestrated by?—

---