Page 40 of Fool Me

My lips press into a thin line before I ask, “How well do you know Marilyn?”

“Just what I hear around town. We’re friendly enough that I say hi when I see her, but I don’t know her.”

“I think she’s really struggling, and I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to tell her to stop coming in if it’s helping her, but I feel like an ass that she’s spending money . . .” I let my voice trail off. “Sorry, you probably don’t need to hear all this.”

She stops in the middle of the front yard, her fingers curling around my forearm. “This is part of getting to know each other. But beyond that, I enjoy hearing about your day, especially when you’re being sweet.”

Following her around the truck, our hands collide when we both reach for the door. “What are you doing?” Impatience bleeds into my voice, making it sound gruffer than I intend.

“Trying to open my door?” she answers slowly.

Again, with the awe at being treated with a bare minimum level of respect.

It pisses me off to no end that it’s her default expectation from men. It’s literally the bare minimum a man can do: open doors, walk on the outside of the sidewalk, make her come first. It’s really not that fucking hard to be decent to a woman. Especially one like her.

“That’s my job from now on,” I say a little gruffly.

Her mouth drops open into a cute littleO, like she’s not sure what to do or say about that.

“Hasn’t anyone ever opened the door for you?”

“Other than my dad, no.”

“That’s a damn shame.” I knew my brother was a selfish prick, but for Harlowe, I thought maybe he’d been different. I guess he’s an even bigger idiot than I thought. “Sounds like I’ll have to give you the full boyfriend experience and show you how a man is supposed to treat the woman he’s dating.”

Our bodies brush when Harlowe steps past me and she shivers. Her responsiveness and the touch sends my nervous system into overdrive, giving me a hit of dopamine that makes my grin spread and my dick twitch.

“Can you let Echo in the back?”

I clear my throat, pretending to be the epitome of control. “Of course.” Her returning smile is enough of a reason to keep dazzling her with the little things she’s been missing.

When we get to Summit Square, we park down the street from the General Store, in front of Peaks & Petals.

The scent of pizza cooking at Gondoughla from the other side of the flower shop overpowers the summer blooms when I step out of the truck and round it to let Harlowe out. Pressing a hand to her back, I follow her up the wooden steps and into the General Store.

The vinyl-covered stools in front of the old-fashioned ice cream counter at the front of the store are full of people enjoying dessert. Most of them probably wandered over after having pizza, but the line to order is short and we only have to wait a few minutes for a family—tourists, if I had to guess—to order.

Once they’ve got their ice cream in hand, Harlowe and I step up.

Her head is bent as she studies her choices, pinning her bottom lip between her teeth like this is a life or death decision.It’s such a contrast to her usually sure demeanor. “Can I get a dish of Elephant Tracks?” she asks Gerty, the owner of the General Store.

“So, not vanilla?” I tease, dropping my voice so only she can hear.

“Never,” she mouths over her shoulder, the mask of confidence back as she throws me a wink. I crowd her from behind, my hands finding her hips just like I would if she were really mine. “That’s a bold statement. There’s an occasion for every flavor. Except for blue moon, that shit tastes like Play-Doh,” I whisper against the shell of her ear before kissing the skin at her neck, making goosebumps sprout across her flesh.

“Are we still talking about ice cream?” she asks.

“You tell me.”

Her breath hitches. I should stop flirting, stop teasing her, but I can’t help it, not since that almost-kiss outside the bar. This might all be fake, but the way she makes me feel, like I belong here with her, is real, and that might be the most foolish thing of all.

“What can I get you?” Gerty asks, moving to me once Harlowe’s dish is scooped, breaking the spell between us.

“A dish of the Blueberry Waffle Bliss, to-go please.” I should get an award for how unaffected I seem as I straighten and place my order like I wasn’t just murmuring dirty insinuations in my fake girlfriend’s ear.

Harlowe snorts. “How very vanilla of you.”

Gerty finishes scooping my ice cream, putting covers on both of the dishes and grabbing two spoons to add to the to-go bag.

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