Page 59 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

My brain wasn’t fast enough to come up with an answer, so Ijust stood there, staring at him. Nobody else, not even my brother and Naomi, had ever said that to me, even though they’d seen me do it a lot of times. If something were to happen and I needed someone in my family to change my pump site, I’d probably be dead before they figured it out, because none of them had done it before.

And this man… wanted tolearn how?

“Let me go grab my stuff.”

When I got back to the kitchen, he’d already finished plating the food and was wiping the counter with disinfectant wipes, preparing the space for me and all my supplies, then went around to stand next to me.

“Okay. First, I need to suspend the insulin delivery on the pump.” I leaned toward him so he could have a look. “Then I need to remove the old line. It’s currently at my back.” I felt around my lower back and unplugged the pump, then tried to pull out the steel needle that was inside my body.

“Here, let me.”

He moved closer, his breath warm on my neck. One of his hands pressed at my spine, spreading heat as he held me steady, while his other hand gently peeled off the adhesive around the thin metal needle, then pulled it out. He did the same with the connecting piece, then wordlessly used alcohol wipes to clean my skin.

Damn.This felt intimate on a whole ’nother level. My back felt like it was on fire from his touch, and my cheeks were burning, and I had to concentrate on what to do next, even though I’d done this so often I could probably complete the process with my eyes closed.

“Now we’re going to fill a new cartridge with insulin.” I reached for a sterile syringe and showed him how to use it to draw insulin from the vial. “Make sure you get rid of any air bubbles in thesyringe, because that could affect the insulin that gets delivered into my body. Then we fill the cartridge, and once that’s done, we load it onto the pump.”

Alec didn’t say anything, just intently watched what I was doing. He looked so serious, I was half expecting him to whip out a notebook to jot everything down or record the entire thing on his phone.

“Now I’m inserting the new site.” I lifted my top a little, pinched a bit of skin on my stomach, then stuck the new steel needle in, ignoring his wince. “Finally, I’m resuming the insulin delivery. And we’re done. Did you remember all that?”

“Most of it. I might have to see it a few more times before I can remember everything. How often do you have to do that?”

“Every two to three days. My CGM, every ten days.”

He nodded, looking like he was processing all the information as I cleaned up and safely disposed of the used needle and syringe.

“By the way,” he tilted his head at me, “what on Earth is a brookie?”

“You don’t know what a brookie is?” We each pulled out a kitchen stool and sat down. “You’ve never had one?”

He shrugged. “Can’t say that I have.”

“It’s a mash-up of brownies and cookies. And you’re in luck, because there’s a recipe for peanut butter cheesecake brookies that I’ve been wanting to try. I could use another taste tester.”

“Sign me up.”

“Anyway, how are things with GPG?”

“Jacqui is looking over the final numbers. We should be signing the deal soon.”

“That’s great. I guess she’s convinced we’re a real couple, then.”

He grinned. “Yeah. Those lovey-dovey eyes you’ve been giving me paid off.”

But as he said that, his eyes sparkled, and for the first time Irealized what Kim and Jenna had been talking about: thathewas also making lovey-dovey eyes at me.

That night, after slipping under my comfortable blanket, I finally did what I should’ve done weeks ago: I Googled the hell out of him.

His entire career history was on LinkedIn. He’d started Mackenzie Constructions seven years ago, and more cyberstalking unearthed articles about how his company had won awards three years in a row for building environmentally sustainable homes. They were also a major supporter during a fundraising drive for a local children’s hospital. I found pictures of him dressed as the Easter Bunny, smiling with his arm around a bunch of cute little kids, and my heart melted into a puddle on the floor.

I saved the articles—for research, obviously, so if someone quizzed me on my fake boyfriend’s company, I could recite the answer like it was implanted on a chip in my brain—when my phone pinged several times in a row, notifying me of a social media tag.

Alec had posted pictures from Jacqui’s party and the morning brunch with Phil on Facebook. There were also photos from a few hours ago, of me blowing the candles on the ice-cream cake, and a selfie of us making funny faces at the camera. Ninety-two people had liked the selfie, including one Jacqueline Goodwin and one Robbie Carmichael (who’d left heart-eyes and fire emojis in the comment). Neither Eric, Naomi, nor his sisters had liked it or left any comments, so Alec must have remembered to exclude our families in the post.

A tiny part of me was slightly disappointed because he’d turned my birthday dinner into a social media opportunity, no doubt in the name of further convincing Jacqui. But at least it reminded me that I should curb my growing feelings.

Because this. Was. Not. Real.

---