Page 50 of Acting Merry
Instead, I rest my mouth against her hair and inhale, hoping it’ll calm this feeling until it goes away.
“Did you bring me what you promised?” Reese asks suddenly.
I smile. “I did better than that.” I reach into the pockets of my hoodie, and Reese sits up to get out of the way.
I pull out a handful and unfurl my fingers. An assortment of Reese’s candy sits in my palm. “What do you say? Should we settle the debate once and for all?”
“There’s no debate, Cole.” She takes a Reese’s tree from my hand, leaving the other things there.
“No no no.” I snatch the tree right back. “We’re doing a taste test.”
She shoots me a flat look, but it’s ruined by the smile taking over. “Fine.”
We start with Reese’s Pieces, and she frowns and shakes her head as she chews them. “The ratio is all wrong. These don’t even have chocolate in them, Cole. That’s the Reese’s promise—chocolate and peanut butter—and these are a blatant violation. They’re failed Peanut Butter M&Ms. Like M&Ms and Reese’s were in a relationship, and M&M’s stepped out on Reese’s with a jar of stale peanut butter.”
The strength of her feelings on this subject has me grinning. “A delicious affair.”
She shakes her head again and grabs a Reese’s tree. “Compare that to this. Reese’s was onto something with their OG cups—the mini cups were a small step backward, in my opinion—but they really found their stride with the trees and pumpkins and bunnies.”
She opens the package, then breaks the tree in half and puts it in my mouth. “Note how there’s no hard chocolate barrier. It’s soft. It melts in your mouth and blends seamlessly with the peanut butter. They’re perfection.”
“You’reperfection.”
Her eyes dart to mine, and she laughs, a hint of uncertainty in the sound.
I didn’t mean to say it. It just came out.
I need to watch myself. The veneer on my fakeboyfriend badge is peeling like a cheap sticker from the dollar store.
“So,” she prods, “do you acknowledge the inferiority of Reese’s Pieces?”
I chew a little more. The treesaredelicious. But it’s too tempting to goad her. “Too soft.”
She looks at me with patent disappointment. “You’re hopeless.” And then she snuggles back into her spot against my chest.
Iamhopeless. Hopelessly falling in love with my fake girlfriend.
I ask Reese about her job and spend the next half hour listening to her tell funny stories about patients while her fingers absently play with mine on her lap. Then she asks me about my job, and I tell her the ridiculous situations that’ve come up on home reno projects—things that make HGTV look tame.
The fire has burnt until it’s just embers, a constant crackling, and the odd glowing piece of ash floating in the air when one of her laughs turns into a yawn.
“Ready for bed?” I ask, reluctant to end this slice of heaven.
She nods with sleepy eyes.
I want to scoop her into my arms and carry her inside, but she gets up before I can decide whether to pursue the idea—whether I can sell it being part of the gig I’m here for.
We brush our teeth side by side in front of the sink, and our eyes meet in the mirror three times during that two minutes, eliciting a toothpaste-covered smile each time.
When we’re back in the bedroom, she goes straight to the air mattress.
“Nope,” I say, grabbing it from her.
“Yep.” She tries to take it right back.
I don’t let her. She has no idea this thing is a ticking time bomb—the type that deflates instead of exploding.
“Cole,” she says. “It’s only fair.”
