Page 14 of Dirty Secret Love

I tilt my head, my brows knitting together. “Backstory?” The phrase feels out of place, but before I can question it, realization dawns. He has a point, and it stings to admit it. I could feel the familiar flush of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks. The one that happens each time I know I failed, but hate to admit it.

The thought of turning to someone who I might have a history with calms my anxiety. I could reach out to . . . I guess my ex-boyfriend, Thomas Soto, but the thought leaves me almost immediately. My parents never liked him, and my mother already met River.

I swallow, trying to maintain my composure. “Oh well,” I respond, forcing a lightness into my tone, “you can’t blame a girl for trying, right?”

His eyes narrow slightly, a playful challenge in his gaze. “Blame you?”

Pushing aside the rising panic, I try a different approach. “Glad that one of us has the common sense to do this right. How about this: can I tell my mother you’re gay?”

His jaw drops, a look of pure astonishment painting his features. “What?” He stares, his voice a mix of surprise and incredulity.

His gaze settles on me, a depth of seriousness overshadowing his earlier playfulness. “That’s a good reason to break up,” I murmur, uncertainty creeping into my voice.

He looks at me, genuine confusion wrinkling his brow. “Why are we breaking up?”

My hands gesture vaguely between us, frustration bubbling up. “You just said it. There’s no way we can pull this off.”

His hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, clearly trying to rein in his patience. “No. No. No.” He takes a few deliberate breaths, calming himself before he continues. “I meant that for this whole thing to be even remotely believable, we need to have a past. A history rooted in something palpable, not just some lie. If not, the whole thing will unravel and become a catastrophe.”

I cross my arms defensively, biting my lower lip. “This is all fake, River. How can we suddenly have history?” Confusion wraps around me tighter. “Explain the paper trail and … what are you talking about?”

He shifts on his feet, running a hand through his hair. “Well, while you were working, I went to talk to Callahan. He told me what we already know: it’s a bad idea.” He pauses for effect. “Keep in mind, I can make it work. We just need to do this right.”

A blend of hope and skepticism stirs in my chest. “How?”

He winks at me, a playful glint in his eye. “Power dating for the next few days.”

“Power dating?” I ask, trying to figure out what he means.

Suddenly, a vivid image pops into my head: me on some wild game show, dressed in a neon tracksuit with a matching headband, juggling flaming batons, and trying to hula-hoop simultaneously. “I’m terrible at physical activities,” I warn him.

His gaze intensifies, and he leans in, close enough that I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. “I’m not asking you to be a contortionist while we . . . fuck, Miss Asher. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I stumble over my words. “I wasn’t . . . well, I mean, not just that, but . . .”

His laughter is light and infectious. “Relax. Your virtue is safe with me.”

I nod, even though a flurry of questions whirls inside my head. I start with the most logical, “Then what are we actually talking about?”

“Just follow me, you’re not going to regret it,” he says, taking my hand into his.

Despite the voice inside me screaming “caution,” I find myself walking beside him—trusting him. After all, at this point, he seems to be my only hope.

ChapterSeven

Sutton

The late afternoonsun paints the town in warm light, making the streets glow. This is one of the things I love about Heartwood Lake during the beginning of the fall season. It looks picture perfect. An oil painting from a famous artist who spent months recreating the perfect setting in a small town.

The little shops are doing their usual business, and there’s the familiar sound of people chatting and laughing somewhere as they stroll along the sidewalk. It’s just another day in Heartwood Lake. Soon enough it’ll start getting dark earlier and earlier until one day it’ll be four o’clock, and the moon will be out before I leave work. I like those days too. I can’t wait for the first snowfall when I can cozy up on my couch right in front of the fireplace.

Will River be out of my house by then?

“First stop, your place,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. That’s when I realize he’s still holding my hand, and people are watching us.

Any other day I would snatch my hand away, fearing the town’s gossip. Today I smile, trying to look like I adore this man. This could be part of the paper trail he was talking about.

As we’re almost to my front door, curiosity gets the better of me. “So, this power date . . . why do we need to make a pit stop at my house?”

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