Page 99 of The Weight Of Falling
Sofia sighs loudly. “She’s doing it again.”
“Doing what?” Tess asks, setting the drinks down.
“The dreamy glue-stick hover. That’s the third time this morning. She doesn’t move. Or blink.”
I straighten guiltily. “Sorry. I’m just...thinking.”
Sofia smirks. “Are you designing a card or composing a love letter in your head?”
“What? No. I’m painting.” I fumble for my paintbrush and dip it into my tea.
Tess lets out a choked sound.
“Did you just try to steep your brush?” Sofia asks with raised eyebrows.
I groan, setting the brush down. “Okay. Maybe I’m a little distracted.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Tess says, leaning on my desk with a glint in her eye. “Distracted is when you forget your laptop charger. You’ve floated to another dimension.”
“Yesterday, I put milk in the pantry and cereal in the fridge,” I confess. “I left the house with my sweater inside out.”
They’re both biting their lips, trying not to laugh.
“This morning, I couldn’t remember my laptop password,” I continue. “Then I typed inJoelto see if it would unlock anything.”
“Only the key to your heart,” murmurs Tess.
I drop my head into my hands. “He has me forgetting my own name.”
“Relax,” Sofia says. “You’ll be borrowing his last name soon enough.”
I lift my head just enough to glare at them, though it’s completely ineffective because I’m smiling. I haven’t stopped smiling since Saturday night. My cheeks actually hurt.
We burst into laughter. For a moment the whole room feels lighter.
“So, it’s real now between you and Joel?” Tess asks.
“It is,” I admit. “And I’m so relieved, because every time I saw him, it got harder to pretend it wasn’t real.”
They exchange a look.
“That,” Tess says, “sounds like the start of a card.”
Sofia’s already halfway to the whiteboard. “Okay,” she announces, uncapping a marker. “New card series idea:For When You’re Only Pretending to Be Engaged but Accidentally Catch Real Feelings.”
Tess snorts. “Too specific?”
“Hyper-specific is our brand,” Sofia shoots back.
I shake my head. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously on-trend,” Tess says. “Imagine the niche market—exes, fake daters, small-town scandals. This could be our moment.”
Sofia grabs a marker in another color. “All right, titles.”
Tess taps her pen against her chin. “It was fake. The butterflies were not.”
Sofia chuckles. “Love that. How about,Thanks for being the best fake fiancé money can’t buy.”
