Page 15 of Faking All the Way
“The only real limitation is the kitchen situation,” I say, gesturing toward the tiny setup with some embarrassment after showing Asher around the place. “It’s pretty much designed for heating up soup and storing leftovers. If you want to cook anything more elaborate than ramen, you’ll probably need to use the main cabin’s kitchen.”
“Does that arrangement work for you?” he asks, raising a brow.
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with implications about boundaries and proximity and exactly how this living situation is going to function on a practical level. I swallow, suddenly very aware of how close we are as we stand together in the little galley kitchen.
“Yeah, of course,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “That’s part of our deal, right? Shared resources.”
“Right.” His lips twitch into what could almost be a smile. “Shared resources.”
We step out of the tiny kitchen, and I watch as he shrugs off his expensive coat and shoves up the sleeves of his sweater. It’s such a simple movement, pushing fabric up his forearms, but it makes my mouth go dry. The motion reveals the corded muscle of his forearms, and I find myself staring longer than I should.
I catch myself and quickly look away, heat rising in my cheeks.
“I should give you my number,” I say, fumbling for my phone as a distraction. “In case you need anything or there’s some kind of emergency.”
“Good thinking.” He pulls out his phone to add my contact, and I notice his hands are steady while mine are slightly shaky as I recite the digits. “Though I could always just walk over and knock on your door if I need something.”
The casual way he mentions showing up at my door sends a little flutter through my stomach that I try to ignore. The thought of him appearing on my doorstep, of that kind of easy access between us on this remote property, only drives home how insane this all is.
He’d better not secretly be an ax murderer or something.
Even as I have that thought, though, I don’t really believe it. Any nerves I feel about living several yards away from this man for the next few weeks have nothing to do with worrying that he’ll chop me up in my sleep. I may not be the best judge of character, given the fact that I dated Daniel for years, but I think my radar is tuned well enough to read someone’s vibes pretty well.
“Oh. Right,” I reply belatedly, probably sounding like an idiot. “That works too.”
An awkward silence falls between us, and I scuff the toe of my boot against the worn hardwood floor.
“Um, I was thinking,” I say, needing to fill the sudden quiet, “I could make dinner tonight? As a thank you for going along with all this craziness. Sam left some groceries for me before she left for Antarctica, so I should be able to put together something decent.”
“I’d like that,” he says, and my stomach does that flipping thing again.
“Plus,” I add, trying to focus on the practical, “we should probably work on our backstory a little. Make sure we have our stories straight so we don’t have any more awkward moments like today.”
He chuckles, the sound rich and deep. “That’s probably a smart idea. We almost blew it with the ‘how long have you been together’ question.”
“Exactly. My mom’s definitely going to have a whole list of questions next time we see her, and we need to be ready.”
“Fair enough. What time should I come over?”
“Give me an hour? That should be enough time to figure out what I’m working with in Sam’s kitchen.”
He nods, grabbing his suitcase so that he can bring it upstairs.
I head back to the main cabin, leaving him to deal with his luggage, and I can feel my heart beating faster than normal as I walk along the stone path. Inside, I start unpacking my things, trying to settle into Sam’s space for what’s apparently going to be the longest visit home I’ve had in years.
Sam’s cabin is exactly what you’d expect from someone who spends her life documenting remote places. Comfortable without being fancy, filled with books and photography equipment and souvenirs from her various adventures. I hang my clothes in the bedroom closet and arrange my toiletries in thebathroom, but everything feels surreal, like I’m playing house in someone else’s life.
As dusk starts falling, I’m setting up my art supplies on the desk by the window when movement outside catches my eye. I glance up and realize I have a perfect, unobstructed view of the guest house from here.
Asher is moving around inside, unpacking his things with the same efficient movements I noticed earlier. Even from this distance, even through glass and gathering darkness, he’s unfairly attractive. The light from the guest house windows illuminates his silhouette as he moves from room to room, and I find myself watching longer than I should.
I shake my head and look away, annoyed with my own reaction. This would probably be a lot easier if I had picked someone less ridiculously handsome to lie about dating. Every time he looks at me directly, I feel like I forget how to form complete sentences.
At least people seemed to believe we’re actually together, unlikely as that seems to anyone with eyes.
Because in the real world, I’m definitely not the kind of woman someone like Asher Vaughn would ever notice.
Chapter Eight
