Page 106 of Maybe We Can Fake It

It feels like I’m drowning. Like my lungs are filling up with water, not air.

Then as if by magic, as if he could sense my growing distress, Travis appears beside me and places his hand on my shoulder, his long fingers applying just the right amount of pressure to make things inside me settle. I don’t think he was eavesdropping on our conversation, because all he says is, “Hey. You good?”

Glancing up at him, I force myself to nod. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

That’s not one hundred percent the truth, but under his touch, I do feel much closer to fine. Like he threw me a life preserver when I was drowning. Although really, I’m sure that if I was drowning, Travis wouldn’t hesitate to jump in himself to save me.

He gives me a long, searching look, then squeezes my shoulder. “Okay.”

After he returns to helping other customers, I turn back to face May. My daughter never asks for much, but she’s asking me for this. And as much as the idea of talking about April and being forced to dredge up all my pain fills me with dread, I would give my daughter anything she wants. So I’ll have to give her this.

“Travis can be there,” she says.

“What?”

“If you want him to. I know he didn’t know my mom, but if it would make you feel better having him there with you, I think he should be.”

“Why do you think he would make me feel better?” I ask, averting my eyes down to my half-eaten sandwich.

She doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and when I risk a glance up at her, I find her smiling at me knowingly. “Because he always makes you feel better.”

It seems like I should argue that, but I can’t. Because it’s true. There’s a reason I ran to Travis on Mother’s Day when I couldn’t handle all my emotions. And while he can’t fix any of this stuff for me, hedidmake me feel better. And maybe I didn’t recognize it so much before, but I’m realizing now that he’s been doing that for me for years.

Travishasalwaysshownup for me whenever I’ve asked him to. But this time he’s done it in such a big way that I honestly don’t know what to say to him. At some point,thank youstops cutting it. When I sneak into the back area of the diner—where I’m not supposed to be, and yes, he’s going to yell at me—to find him at the grill cooking pancakes, I’m overwhelmed with everything I feel for him.

He not only agreed to be at this freaking memorial, but he offered to close the diner early so we could have it here. Because apparently, Elise and Grant told him that April loved coming here for pancakes on their vacations.

When he asked Elise if she liked the idea, her eyes watered. Then she thanked him, and hugged him, and looked at him in a way I’m not even sure she’s ever looked at me.Almost like family.

Turning around now, Travis spots me standing in the small kitchen. “Get out of here!”

I chuckle at how right I was. “I just want to help.”

“That’s nice, but according to my insurance company, you aren’t allowed to help, so get your sexy ass out.”

“The restaurant’s not even open,” I argue, enjoying our typical banter even more now that there’s an element of flirting to it. Up until a few weeks ago, I thought this man was as straight as an arrow, and I’ve never been so happy to find out I was wrong.

“It doesn’t matter. Out!”

“But—”

He gives me a stern look and repeats, “Out!”

Huffing, I tell him, “Fine, but at least let me help bring things to the table.”

This time the look he gives me is much softer. “Go stand on the other side of the passthrough.”

Good enough for me. That’s still behind the counter, which still makes me feel kind of special. And really, I was only looking for a task so I wouldn’t be sitting out there miserably with May and her grandparents. It seems like we’re waiting for Travis before we start this thing, so they’re being weirdly quiet. They look sad already though.

Who thought this would be a good idea? I don’t understand the point of talking about the most painful thing we could possibly talk about. We all went through it once. Why do we have to do it again?

I remind myself I’m doing this for May. It sounds horrible to me, but if she wants me to rip myself open for her, I will.

“Can you carry this stack without dropping it?” Travis asks me from the kitchen, as he sets a giant platter of pancakes on the passthrough ledge.

I want to be insulted, but it does look heavy, and I’m not the most coordinated person. “How about I bring out the toppings and leave this to you?”

The way he smiles at me makes me want to get him naked, cover him with some of his homemade whipped cream, and then lick it off him. But I try to wipe that fantasy from my mind as he passes me bowls of blueberries and sliced strawberries. The last thing I need is to pop a boner while everyone else is crying.

---