Page 52 of Hand Picked
I could tell you his words didn’t make my chest squeeze and my fingertips tingle… but that would be a lie. “Got it.”
“And come on Saturday. Really. Aiden needs caring, responsible adults in his life.”
I hesitated. “How is the visitation thing with Amanda going?”
“It’s going.” He shrugged.
“If you need to talk…”
“Thanks. I appreciate the offer. “ He gave me a half-smile. “There are worse people I could have to pretend to be in love with for the next seven weeks.”
“In… l-love?” I sputtered. “What?”
Webb shrugged. “Well, if we want that discount, we have to make a good show, at least in front of Jerry Walcott.”
I groaned. I hadn’t thought that through all the way.Crap.“But aren’t you worried we’ll confuse Aiden?”Or me?“We can’t exactly claim it was an accident if we’re going along with it. Are we just going to wait until the end of the eight weeks and say, ‘Psych!’”
“I was thinking more like, ‘Things didn’t work out.’ And then we’ll stun everyone with our incredible maturity by managing to stay friends.”
I huffed out a laugh.
“And as for Aiden… I’m gonna have to explain this to him anyway before he hears rumors.”
“True. Do you want me to help? I could—”
“No, I’ll take care of it,” Webb said with such finality I knew better than to argue. “But will you come on Saturday?”
Ughhhh. “I’m afraid you’re greatly underestimating my lack of coordination,” I warned him. “The maple sugaring part sounds great, but maybe I can cheer you on from the sidelines during the skating part.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he promised. “Trust me.”
I did trust him, I realized. At least, with ice skating.
“Okay,” I agreed, forcing a smile. “I’ll give it a try.” Though I firmly believed it would end in disaster.
“Saturday’s going to be the most fun ever,” he promised.
As it turned out… we were both right.
ChapterTwelve
WEBB
By the midpoint of Saturday afternoon’s Nature Scout Skate on Pond Pond, I was ready to admit that I’d been wrong about today being fun.
It was not.
It had nothing to do with the dozen six-, seven-, and eight-year-olds sliding around on the ice, starting random snowball fights, and whooping so loudly the trees rang with the sound, because Maryanne and the other Herd Leader were in charge of them.
And it had nothing to do with the weather either. Though it was overcast and I could smell an impending snowstorm in the air, the temperature had finally dropped back below freezing the day before, and after drilling the ice in a few strategic locations to check its thickness, the Herd Leaders and I had decided most of the pond was safe for skating.
No, the issue was Luke Williams—insatiably curious, constantly smiling, adorable Luke Williams, with his borrowed ice skates and all the natural grace of a shaky newborn calf—and the fact that every time I looked at the man, the churning in my gut ratcheted up a little tighter.
This wasn’t fun—it was torture.
“Like this?” Luke asked, looking up at me with hopeful excitement on his face. He balanced on his skates while I pulled him along from the front and Aiden propelled us from behind, and together we formed the world’s weirdest, slowest ice locomotive.
“You got it, Mr. Williams,” Aiden encouraged. “You’re doing great.”
