Page 27 of Crumbling Truth
“You know what I’m saying. Why do you stay here?”
I took a sip of water to put off responding, then sighed. “The memories aren’t all good, obviously, but I never fit in when I was growing up. Spruce Hill is the first place that’s ever felt like home. Leaving feels like…letting Steve win. I love my customers, I love your parents. This is my refuge.”
His gaze swept over my features and I caught the moment he recognized my sincerity on the issue. “Okay.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t mind being alone, Theo.”
“You’re not alone now.”
“I guess you’re right,” I replied, then bit my lip. “You really think we can pull this off?”
He laid his hand on the table, palm up, and waited until I hesitantly laid my hand on top of it. The warmth of his fingers curling around mine was both unsettling and reassuring, summoning up all kinds of feelings I thought I’d locked away long ago.
“Esther, Queen of Sweets and goddess of cookies, I have the utmost faith in us.”
Chapter Eleven
Theo
BySundaynight,Iwas pretty sure Esther didnothave faith in our ability to pull off the dating charade. She answered the door looking scorching hot in a sheer black blouse over a dark purple tank top and skintight black jeans, but her eyes were wide and panicked.
“I’m sorry, I just need a second,” she said in a rush, bolting back toward the bedroom while I stepped inside the guest house and closed the door.
A minute later, she returned wearing dangly, glittering earrings and boots with heels that brought the top of her head nearly to my chin. Before she could reach for her coat, I caught her hands in mine and waited for her to meet my gaze.
“Hey,” I said gently. “It’s going to be fine. Even if we leave after twenty minutes, that’s fine. Breathe for a second, okay?”
The breath she sucked in was shaky, but the panic slowly leached from her expression. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Nothing to be sorry about. As your fake boyfriend, am I allowed to tell you that you look outrageously beautiful tonight?”
She wrinkled her nose at me. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before I decide this is a terrible idea.”
I laughed and helped her with her coat, pleased to note that the tension in her shoulders eased while she tied the belt at her waist. When I offered my hand, she rolled her eyes but took it, holding onto me like I was a lifeline.
The drive, fortunately only a few minutes through town, was mostly silent. I’d never been to Botticelli’s, but Oliver told me it catered to a slightly older crew than some of the college bars nearby, offering craft beers from local breweries and cocktails with pop culture references in the names.
“Should we come up with a signal in case one of us needs to hightail it out of there?” I asked as I pulled into the parking lot.
“Yeah, I’ll run screaming toward the door.”
Laughing, I parked the truck and turned to face her. “I’d like things to not reach quite that level of emergency.”
“It’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “It can’t be that much different than dinner with the crew, right?”
“Right. Let’s go.”
In theory, it wasn’t much different—in reality, it seemed likely that walking into a noisy, crowded bar the last weekend before Thanksgiving was Esther’s worst nightmare.
And mine.
People I only vaguely recognized stopped us every few feet from the minute we walked in the door, which meant the trek to the back corner where Sofia, Chase, Ollie, and Julian had secured a high-top table took a solid fifteen minutes. Esther smiled politely, murmuring noncommittal responses to direct questions, but her fingers tightened painfully around my hand until we broke free of the final group of interested citizens.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered against her ear, catching a hint of vanilla and peppermint drifting up from her hair.
“It’s fine.”
I knew enough to recognize it was definitelynotfine, but this wasn’t the place to argue, especially when one of her conditions for this entire act was that I trust her word. We eventually reached the table, greeted our friends, and ordered our drinks from a passing server.
