Page 60 of Faking the Pass
I walked over and rapped on the door. “Hey, I’m heading to the grocery store. Want to go?”
Might as well ask. Not surprisingly, the answer was no.
“Definitely not,” she called through the door. “I’d rather not give the stalkerazzi the chance to snap pictures of meforthe tabloids while surroundedbytabloids with my face all over them. A little too meta for me, thanks.”
“Okay, well, I’ll be back in a little while. Anything I can get for you?”
“No, I’m fine,” she answered.
Great.She was “fine.” According to my brother, that meant she was already packing her bags.
Better make it one hell of a picnic.
Chapter 15
Cupcakes and a Ring
Rosie
I was in the kitchen when Presley returned.
He came in from the garage carrying what looked like about fifteen handled grocery bags at once. With one hand.
“Let me help.” I rushed over to him, but he assured me he had it. He plopped the bags down on the island countertop.
“You can help me unload, though. I’ll do the cold stuff. You can put away the pantry stuff.”
“Sure.”
It was the most words we’d said to each other since the press conference. Avoiding Presley as much as possible was the only way I knew to get through this thing.
His actions back at the mansion had really thrown me. Since then, I’d been battling some very strong and very inappropriate feelings.
Feelings he didn’t reciprocate—and never had.
He didn’t even remember that on our second date we’d basically done a photo shoot all over town, pretending to be tourists visiting Eastport Bay’s hotspots and taking selfies.
To this day, it was still the most fun I’d ever had on a date.
Of course I’d saved the pictures, like the sap I was. And of course I’d knownexactlywhere to lay my hands on the photos of my unrequited love and me.
Just looking at them as I posted them brought back all those feelings of shame and embarrassment I’d felt when he’d asked me out for a date only to take me to a public place and break things off with me.
It had been the first, though not the last, time I’d completely misjudged a guy’s true feelings for me.
Randy’s reversal might have been more public, but as it had been my first heartbreak, Presley’s had hurt more. It had taken meyearsto get over.
I needed torememberthat feeling like my life depended on it.
Especially now, when the two of us were working side by side in the kitchen in this approximation of domestic bliss.
I pulled the cans and boxes from the bags of non-perishables, stacking them on the pantry shelves, but when my hand came out with one of the items, I froze.
It was a box of chocolate cupcakes—not the bakery kind but the ones I’d loved as a kid—the kind that were individually wrapped in plastic and manufactured who-knew-how-many months ago.
The same kind I’d cleaned him out of during my wedding night pity party.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when Presley’s voice came from right behind me.
