Page 112 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“We’ll see it in the calendar.”
The inn loomed before them, and Chewy and Vader romped toward the car. Eden parked, and together they skirted the side of the building and entered through the kitchen, the dogs on their heels.
“Did you two have a good time?” Davis asked, ruffling first Chewy’s fur and then Vader’s. Vader wasn’t playing as hard to get anymore where Davis was concerned. She leaned into his leg and stared adoringly up at him. Eden had to concede the point that her dogs adored her former mortal enemy.
“I’ve got a bottle of champagne stashed in your fridge. If you feel like celebrating,” Davis said, eyes on Eden.
“I just might have two slices of apple pie hidden in the pantry,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.
“You’ve never been sexier.”
“You just want me for my baked goods,” she teased.
“That’s a reason. But not the only one.” Davis’s words hung between them like she could reach out and touch them.
Eden cleared her throat. “Let’s celebrate our victory with spoils.”
They snuck through the lobby with glasses and plates. Behind the desk, Sunny had her earbuds in and was singing so enthusiastically that she missed them slink past her.
Still giggling, Eden let them into her room and closed the door. “So, how does it feel to make the Beautification Committee dance like a puppet?” Eden asked.
Davis popped the cork on the champagne, and Eden remembered the bright joy she’d felt the last time they’d shared a glass. The happiness on Eva and Donovan’s faces as they made their announcement. The shared love around the table.Family. Future.
And here they were toasting revenge. It didn’t quite have the same golden glow.
“If they didn’t still owe me a kitchen, I’d be willing to call it quits right here and now,” Davis announced, pouring her a frothy glass.
“Whatareyou going to do if the insurance company doesn’t come through?” Eden asked.
He shrugged. “Well, obviously the naked calendar will go viral, and the Beautification Committee will be able to pay me back in no time.”
Eden laughed. “That’s very optimistic of you.”
“How could it not be a huge money-maker with Bruce Oakleigh’s ass?”
“I’ll never un-see those cheeks,” Eden predicted. “But if the nudey calendar is a flop—pun intended—what will you do?”
“I’ve got retirement savings as a last resort,” he told her, draining his glass.
She winced. “I hope the insurance money will come through.”
“Me, too.” He refilled both their glasses. “Would you miss me?”
“You’re my next-door neighbor,” she hedged.
He twined his fingers with hers. “I’m asking if you would miss seeing me every day.”
She sipped, the bubbles tart on her tongue. “I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to seeing your face,” she said airily. “As well as the rest of your body.”
“What would you say if I told you I didn’t want this to end?”
Every muscle in her body went rigid. Her seventeen-year-old self had fantasized about this moment, or its teenage equivalent, about seven million times. Her adult self had spent years building walls around her heart so it would never happen.
“I’d say that you were blinded by Rainbow’s ta-tas,” she said lightly.
He swiveled on the couch to face her. “Eden. I’m serious.” Handsome. Earnest. Hopeful.
She took a hasty gulp of champagne and wondered why it burned her throat.
