Page 63 of Faking Ties

“Thank you, sir,” I say.

“How are you going to celebrate?” Elodie asks.

Evren snorts. “By working.”

“You should really drop this whole workaholic thing you’ve got going on.” Elodie says it like a joke, but I detect the sincerity beneath the words.

“I’ll take that into consideration,” Evren says evenly.

“Have a good evening,” I say, pulling Elodie along, impatient to get to the pie shop and start showing her around my city. I want her to like it here; I want her to like me.

Elodie softly sings to the radio as I drive us to Fat Cat pie shop. There’s a logo of a cute, fat cat eating pie. A bell dings when I open the door. Marie, the owner, grins when she spots me. “Congrats on the W.”

“Thank you,” I say. I always come here after a home game win. It’s tradition, one that started randomly four years ago, and I haven’t broken since. “Can we get a slice of every pie you’ve got?”

“All ten?” she asks, clearly surprised. Normally I only order the bourbon chocolate pecan after a win, but today’s different.

“Yeah, I’ve been talking your shop up to Ella. I wanted her to try one of each.”

Marie takes in Elodie with a shocked look, clearly not expecting to see her. Or well, who she thinks is Stella.

“Hi.” Elodie waves before crouching next to the gray-and-white, fat cat lying in the middle of the floor. She rubs the belly and coos. “Aren’t you the chonkiest cat I ever did see. Yes, yes, you are.”

Marie blinks out of her stupor and hisses, “You could’ve warned me that she’d be joining you today.”

I grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She clucks her tongue and begins cutting up the pies. I take a seat next to the pale-yellow walls and Elodie sits next to me.

“You do realize,” she says, “that we’re going to be taking home all the pie slices we don’t finish.”

“Of course. We can eat a slice before every meal.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.” She grins and I can’t help but steal a kiss.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me, too,” she whispers, gazing at me like I mean something to her. “I?—”

Marie interrupts whatever she was going to say to bring the pie slices over. Once Marie leaves, I ask, “What were you going to say?”

“I wanted to thank you.” She takes a deep breath. “For being patient and willing to get to know the real me.”

I place my hand on hers. “You were right.”

“I’m always right,” she says with a grin. “But about what in particular?”

“You were always you.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she asks, “How do you feel about that?”

“Before I answer, I need to know where you stand in all this. What do you want to happen between us?” I’m tired of trying to dissect our every interaction. If she doesn’t want me, I’ll find a way to move on.

“You,” she whispers. “I want you. For real.”

“You do?”

She nods. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to keep you in my life.”

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