Page 76 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

"Fix your lipstick?" Grayson's smile holds an edge of something new. "Among other things."

"All of it." But neither of us moves. "Though I'm not sure I remember how to pretend anymore."

"Me neither." He brushes his thumb across my lower lip, smudging what's left of my carefully applied lipstick. "Maybe we should stop trying."

Before I can process that, my phone buzzes with updates about traumatized sourdough and shower logistics and all the reasons this isn't supposed to be real.

"The reporters are waiting," I manage.

“I can’t tell you how much I’d like to give them something to wait for.” But he steps back, though it visibly costs him. “But you’re right. We should probably see tonight through.”

I nod, not trusting my voice. He helps me straighten mydress while I attempt to fix his hair, our touches lingering longer than necessary.

When we rejoin the party moments later, I catch Olivia's knowing look across the room. She raises her champagne in a silent toast as Grayson's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through Seattle's tech elite like we've been doing this forever.

Maybe we have been. Maybe all those careful patterns were just preparing us for this moment – for string lights and rain mist and the way some things can't be controlled.

No matter how hard we try.

21

LETTING GO OF CTRL + COMMAND

Alex's Penthouse,Seattle, WA

GRAYSON

Two days until Valentine's Day, and I've been staring at the same engagement party supply spreadsheet for approximately two hours while actually thinking about how Rosalind felt in my arms at the wedding shower.

Seattle's winter twilight comes early, casting Alex's penthouse in that particular shade of grey that all Pacific Northwesters have to know. Heavy snow threatens again, but all I can focus on is the way Roz looked when I left her last night – slightly disheveled, thoroughly kissed, and more distant than ever.

"Earth to robot boy," Connor waves a hand in front of my face. "Your circuits are showing."

I minimize the spreadsheet, but not before Alex spots my distraction. "Dude, you've been rearranging the same row for twenty minutes."

"I'm analyzing placement strategies for?—"

"For someone who isn't even here?" Connor's grin turnswicked. "Someone who maybe messed up your perfect hair at last night’s wedding shower?"

"Douglas has a big mouth."

"Douglas has a group chat with my grandmother." He scrolls through his phone. "Apparently you and Roz gave quite the performance on the rooftop."

"Speaking of performance," Alex cuts in before I can strangle Connor, "thanks for helping with all this. I know engagement parties are usually more the bride's thing, but Mac's already done the whole production once, and I just... want to make it special. Different."

"Different like synchronized swimming different?" Connor asks. "Or different like actual human emotions different?"

"Different like I actually care about getting it right." Alex runs hands through his already chaotic hair. "Which is why I need you two idiots to help me not screw it up."

"Pretty sure your fiancée would marry you in a dumpster," I point out.

"Pretty sure you're just projecting your own romantic crisis onto my party planning."

"I'm not having a romantic crisis."

"Really?" Connor pulls up what appears to be a series of screenshots. "Because CORA sent my grandmother some very interesting data about your recent behavioral patterns..."

"I need to reprogram my AI's communication protocols," I mutter.

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