Page 19 of Maybe We Can Fake It

Lookingupfrommyphone, where I’ve been busy triple and quadruple-checking that everything is ready to go for tomorrow morning’s events at the inn, I realize that May has already scarfed down half of her burger and fries while I was too distracted to even order anything. Day one of the corporate retreat went off without a hitch, but that hasn’t stopped me from sending check-in texts to Danny and Addison every fifteen minutes since I left. I’m not sure I’ll sleep tonight, because I’ll be dreading some sort of emergency call from the night staff.

Maybe I should go sleep there. There are no available rooms, but my desk chair is comfortable enough.

Yeah, no. Sleeping hunched over my desk would definitely fuck up my back.

I just need to relax and... focus on the other thing I’m stressed about.

Elise and Grant are coming tomorrow evening, and I’ve barely had time to prepare for them because of the retreat. And I haven’t talked to May because I’m a big fat pile of chicken shit,so I haven’t been able to tell Travis whether or not we’re actually doing this, and—

“Dad?”

“What?” I croak.

“You looked weird. Are you breathing?”

“I think so.” I am now, at least. Forcing a smile, I ask May, “Are you excited to see your grandparents?”

She sucks down some of her orange soda, then nods. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

Nope. Not the word I’d use.

“How are you?” she asks. “I know sometimes you get uneasy around them.”

Damn, she’s too perceptive and knows me too well. “I’ll be fine,” I lie. This would be the perfect transition into asking her to do the biggest, most absurd favor I’ll hopefully ever have to ask of my daughter. Instead, I steal a fry off her plate and jam it into my mouth.

“Get your own food,” she complains.

I pout at her. “Travis is busy now.”

Most Saturday nights, there’s another server helping him. But tonight he only has Sullivan in the back cooking, and he’s handling everything else alone. I take a glance around the packed diner to locate him. It’s the middle of the dinner rush, and he’s been running around since we got here. I know this because I was sneaking occasional peeks at him while I was on my phone.

Ever since he came out to me, I’ve been looking at him differently. Which might sound messed up, but I don’t mean it in a bad way. Obviously. It’s just that I’ve never looked at him as more than a friend before. Even though I love talking to him and teasing him and letting him give me shit for my unhealthy habits. I love how he complains about all the town events but participates in little things when I ask him to. I love the way hepays attention to May, and cares about her, and is always there whenever she needs anything. And, of course, whenever I need anything.

But I’ve always assumed he was straight, and I make it a point not to fall for straight guys. Now that I know the truth, though?

I don’t know.

Yes, I’m aware that just because we’re both into men, that doesn’t mean we have to be into each other. But damn, Travis is hot.

I subtly track him as he hustles between serving plates, refilling drinks, cashing people out, and hopping on the grill when Sullivan gets backed up. He’s removed his flannel shirt at some point during all the running around, leaving him in only a tight black T-shirt. If I said I didn’t appreciate how this provides a glorious view of his bulging arm muscles, then I’d be a lying liar who lies.

He should be happy—because a steady stream of customers means more money—but it looks like he’s barely managing not to frown as he serves people. He probably reached his peopling capacity for the day about thirty plates ago.

“Flag him down,” May insists. “You know he’ll come over for you.”

“No, that’s rude. I can wait.”

She bites into a fry and lets the end dangle out of her mouth, taunting me with it. “I told you to order when I did.”

“I can wait,” I say again. And it would’ve sounded believable if my traitorous stomach didn’t choose the next moment to let out a loud rumble.

May snorts. “You look like you’re two seconds away from eating your own hand.”

Right as I’m coming up with a witty retort, a giant plate of food is slammed down in front of me. “Wha—” I look up to find Travis hovering beside me. “I didn’t order anything.”

“You need to eat. Stop worrying about work.”

“I wasn’t wo—”

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