Page 25 of Fake It Til You Break It

Good grief, he was an absolute menace, and honestly, I loved it. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed so much or so freely. After years of striving for perfection, I was starting to realize that not everything had to be so serious. Sometimes, it was okay to be a little messy.

When we arrived at the penguin enclosure, Beckett wasted no time mimicking their waddle. This time, I had expected it, and after the briefest of hesitations, I actually joined in. Only for a second, and without his animation or flair, but it felt good to be part of the fun rather than a bystander to his joy.

Eventually, we found our way to the manatee exhibit, and while I knew millions of people loved them, I just didn’t see the appeal. “They look like wet beanbags.”

“That’s fat shaming, and we will not tolerate it.” Beckett pressed his hand to the glass and lowered his voice. “Isn’t that right, Petunia?”

I blinked rapidly, my pulse tripping into a wild gallop. Thankfully, my momentary panic at being perceived as bigoted didn’t last long. Once I realized he was teasing—and that we were talking about a half-ton sentient potato—my anxiety vanished as quickly as it had come.

“Apologies. I didn’t realize you two were friends.”

I also had it on good authority, courtesy of the placard on the wall, that this was a bull and definitely not named Petunia.

“She is from the orderSirenia. A literal siren, sir. Show some respect.”

He might have dropped the animal fact casually with a side of drama, but it told me a lot. Beneath his snark existed a candid love for the creatures. Unless auditioning for a game show, the average person didn’t make it a point to memorize the scientific name for things. They called them water heifers and went about their day.

“You really like manatees, don’t you?”

“I do,” he answered, dropping the bluster. “I grew up in Florida, and I used to volunteer at a rehabilitation center during high school.”

Although I felt honored that he had shared this piece of his history with me, I instinctively knew he wouldn’t want me to make a big deal out of it. Again, I reminded myself that noteverything needed to be serious. It didn’t need to be dissected and analyzed. Sometimes, it just needed to be.

Instead, I retrieved my phone from my pocket and opened the camera app. “Would you like me to take a photo to commemorate the moment?”

In response, he angled toward me, gave a double thumbs up, and adopted a million-watt smile that had probably broken countless hearts. I snapped half a dozen pictures, then passed him my phone so he could choose the ones he liked.

“Good?”

“One more.” Grabbing my wrist, he dragged me close and pressed his cheek to mine as he held the phone out at arm’s length. “Did you know some people think ancient sailors actually mistook manatees for mermaids, and that’s where the myth came from? Can you picture Petunia in a seashell bikini?”

I had never considered it, but now, it was all I could think about, and once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop.

“Perfect.” Beckett turned the phone around to show me the pictures he’d taken while I had been mentally living in a Homer epic. “What do you think?”

With a shaky hand, I flipped through the images, one by one, judging them with a critical eye. They weren’t polished or front-page worthy. But they were real, and they radiated with happiness.

“I love them.”

“Excellent.” Beckett passed the phone back to me and took my hand, lacing our fingers together. “I think that’s about it. Do you want to swing by the gift shop?”

“Sure.” I shrugged, more focused on the feel of his palm against mine than overpriced souvenirs.

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” In reality, I was starving. I had been too nervous to eat breakfast, and we had skipped right past lunch while at the aquarium.

“Do you want anything in particular, or are you kind of done with outside nonsense for the day?”

While I hadn’t quite reached shutdown mode yet, between my pre-anxiety about our date and the nightmare of navigating downtown Dallas, I teetered on the edge. Beckett had recognized it before I had, and he’d given me an easy out, but I wasn’t ready for our time together to end.

“Maybe something low-key,” I suggested as we made our way toward the gift shop at the front of the building.

“Want to order something and eat at my place?”

Talk about a loaded question. Although benign on the surface, he hadn’t just offered a meal. He had invited me into his space.And god help me, I wanted it. Maybe it would backfire, and I’d end up regretting it, but I wanted to try.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

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