Page 28 of Fake It Till We Fall
Why would she?
The memory still caused me physical pain. The familiar ache in my chest was present as I danced with Harper under the Christmas lights.
“This is nice.” She looked up at me, completely unaware of the memory playing in my head.
Her eyes sparkled with the reflection of the lights, and for a second, I had to remind myself to breathe.
Nice wasn’t the word I’d use.
Torture, maybe. A gift I didn’t deserve? Definitely.
Dangerous, without a doubt.
I cleared my throat, forcing a smile. “Yeah. It is.”
Her fingers flexed lightly in mine, like she was testing the space between us to see whether I’d pull her closer or let her go.
But I wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. Not again.
The music carried us another few beats before someone in the crowd, no doubt one of my brothers, catcalled us.
Harper pulled away with a laugh.
I shook my head and scanned the crowd, my gaze landing on Preston with a dirty look he probably couldn’t see from where he stood.
“That was fun, Gray. Thank you.”
I nodded, but the words stuck in my throat. Becausethank youwasn’t what I wanted to say.
Not even close.
Chapter Eight
Grayson
The morning after the festival was mercifully quiet in the store. It was the kind of quiet I needed, especially considering everything going on in my brain was so loud. I couldn’t stop replaying the night before. The lights, the tree…Harper.
Pretending to be her boyfriend was too easy because, in my heart, it still felt so right.
Which was why it was a terrible idea.
Not that I didn’t know that when I agreed to it, but with every day that passed and every moment we spent together, I felt myself getting in deeper and deeper. It wasn’t going to end well.
But what if it does?
As quickly as the thought popped into my mind, I shut off that little part of my brain. The part that would give me false hope that things could be different this time.
I was too old to let myself believe in fairy tales or happy endings.
It wasn’t in the cards. At least not for me and Harper.
I lifted the board and carefully carried it to the stack I’d been making in the loading bay. Working in the warehouse was exactly what I needed. Just me, the scent of freshly cut lumber, and the steady rhythm of picking an order in silence.
Right on cue, the back door to the warehouse banged open. With a sigh, I straightened and brushed my hands off on my jeans.
“Morning.”
I turned and smiled. “Hey, Reid. You’re early.”
