Page 11 of Maybe We Can Fake It

“Hon, I’m so sorry, my oven beeped. I’ve got to take the roast out. We’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” I say dumbly. I might be in a state of shock.

After she hangs up, though, I snap out of it. Now I’m trying not to hyperventilate as I mentally run through ways I could possibly fix the mess I’ve just gotten myself into.

A throat clears, startling me out of wondering if fleeing the country with May and changing our names would be too extreme.

I look up to find Travis standing in the doorway of my office holding a plate of muffins and staring at me like I have three heads. Granted, he’s a little blurry since I’m still missing my glasses, so it’s possible I’m the one looking at him that way.

“Hi,” I say, trying to smile like everything’s normal and I’m not currently freaking the fuck out. I jump up and swipe my glasses off the floor. I jam them on my face, then fall back into my desk chair. “Um. Are those for me?”

His gaze flicks to the plate in his hand. “I wanted you to choose the best flavor. Since when are you seeing someone who practically lives with you?”

“Um.” Okay, so he’s been standing there a lot longer than I realized. And there’s a strange prickliness to his tone that I’m not used to. (I mean, pricklyiskind of his baseline with everyone else, just not with me.) I don’t even know how to begin explaining my dumbassery, but he’s still standing there staring at me expectantly, so. I try.

His brow furrows when I tell him how I blurted out the nonsense about having a boyfriend because May’s grandmother basically implied that I’m not enough for my daughter on my own.

“I’m sure she didn’t say that.”

I shrug uncomfortably. “Not in so many words, but yeah. I think she did. Then she said they’re coming here. And they almost never come here, and I’m worried they want to check up on how the inn is doing, because they probably think I’m failing at this just like they think I’m failing as a parent, and oh fuck,they’re gonna try to take May away from me, aren’t they? That’s why they’re coming!”

“Breathe,” Travis says. And I immediately suck in a huge gulp of air, but it still feels like I’m not getting enough oxygen to my brain. Has it always been so stuffy in this office? Why are there no windows to open? Who designed this place?

As I’m contemplating taking a sledgehammer to a wall—not that I’d know where to get a sledgehammer—Travis takes a couple long strides forward, and suddenly he’s right in front of me, hovering over my desk in all his flannel-wearing glory.

He’s still holding the plate, but he uses his free hand to reach out and grip my upper arm firmly. “Brenden. Get up.”

I do as he says without thinking about it, then let him lead me out of my office, through the inn’s common area with all the cozy armchairs, and out a back door to the wraparound porch. He doesn’t let go of my arm the whole time, and I find myself staring at his long, thick fingers where they’re curled around my very mediocre-sized muscle. He has sexy fingers. How have I never noticed that before?

They look a little rough, too. Because he does a lot with his hands. Cooking, fixing stuff, building things...

I don’t know why my mind is wandering in this random direction. Maybe it’s a trauma coping mechanism so that I don’t have to think about what’s going on. Shit, is it insensitive to call this trauma? It’s not like the Richardsons are going to physically hurt me. I don’t think. But if they wanted to, I guarantee they have the resources to hide the body.

“Sit,” Travis instructs, pointing at one of the two chairs on either side of a tiny table. The whole porch has spaced out seating meant for the guests, but I’ve spent plenty of peaceful moments myself out here, enjoying the view of the grounds.

This moment isn’t so peaceful, but again, I do what he tells me to, because having someone else be in charge for a minutefeels good. He takes the other chair, setting the plate down on the table between us. When he pushes it closer to me with a pointed look, I reach for the nearer of the two muffins and pull off a chunk of the top to shove in my mouth. It tastes good, I guess, but I’m barely aware of what I’m eating. My mind is still spinning, and the only thing I can focus on that settles me a bit is Travis’s deep brown eyes.

“Now,” he says after I’ve finished chewing, “can you explain what’s happening without losing it again?”

“I already told you, I’m an idiot loser who couldn’t keep my mouth shut and lied about being in a relationship. So I guess now I have to find a fake boyfriend. That’s what they do in movies, right?” I force a laugh, but it comes out manic.Girrrl, get it together.

Travis rolls his eyes. “Yes, that must be the only practical solution. Rather than simply telling them the truth.”

He doesn’t understand. And of course he doesn’t. Since May and I moved to Mayweather, I haven’t made it a habit to go around sharing the finer details about her adoption and the extended family dynamic.

But he’s sitting here watching me internally freak out, and he’s tilting his head like hewantsto understand. Like he cares. And he’s... Travis. I’m hesitant to call him my best friend, only because if I did, he’d probably scoff and stop speaking to me. He likes to pretend he’s allergic to people, but he always manages to be there for me when I need him.

And something about his uncomplicated, steady presence helps tone down my energetic, sometimes over-the-top personality. Right now being a prime example.

It’s also nice that he puts up with my antics though. Sometimes I like to be a pain in his ass just for the fun of it, to see how much he can take before I drive him crazy. Surprisingly, I’ve yet to find the threshold.

Because of all this, he’s kind of my favorite person. Other than May, of course.

I press my finger into the edge of the muffin, watching it crumble and the sugar crystals fall off, while I gather my thoughts. I can trust him with this. “I can’t tell them I lied about having a boyfriend. We don’t have a terrible relationship, but we’re not... close. If I say I lied to them, they’ll think I’m being dishonest about other things too, and they’ll question my ability to take care of May.”

“You’ve been taking care of her almost her whole life,” Travis points out.

Looking up at him, I find myself getting lost in his eyes again. He’s such a good guy, despite the grumpy front. If only I could say I was dating someone like him, that might be enough to convince Elise and Grant I’ve got my shit together.

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