“About our fake relationship?” she asks, but there’s something in her voice.
Julie spots another photographer near the honey stand.
“Maybe,” I say, realizing we’re surrounded. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”
She grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Want to go home and eat apple cider doughnuts in bed, naked?”
“That’s the best suggestion you’ve had all day,” I say with a laugh, loving how she so casually pulls me away from my mini spiral.
“Better than shower sex?” she asks.
“Different category, but equally appealing.”
I was afraid of the outside world bursting our perfect bubble. I just wanted more time with her before reality came crashing in.
As we walk back to her place, I keep watch for photographers, knowing I need to text Asher as soon as we’re out of the public eye.
Julie hums beside me, swinging her market bags, occasionally feeding me bites of a warm doughnut. She acts as if she doesn’t care, but I know better.
Regardless, I soak in the morning sun, enjoy the peacefulness of the town, and try to forget people from my world are here, watching us.
“Nick?” Julie says as we reach her door.
“Yeah?”
“Whatever happens with the media stuff … I’m glad it’s me.”
“Me too.”
She fumbles with her keys, and that’s when I realize she’s nervous.
“Let me help,” I say, taking them, unlocking the door while shielding her.
Once inside, Julie sets down the market bags on the counter and turns to me.
“What parts are real, and what parts are fake?”
“When we’re alone. All real.” I move closer to her. “The way I look at you. Real. How I feel when I wake up next to you. Real. The panic I experienced when I saw those photographers getting near you. So damn real.” I take her hands.
“So, you’re just really bad at fake dating?”
“The worst,” I agree, pulling her closer. “But it will work out.”
“Even with photographers following us?”
“Especially then.” I kiss her forehead.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it from my pocket.
Patterson
Blaire just read my palm and told me I’m going to see my soulmate in November. Then she kicked me out of the shop. I’m so confused.
I show Julie the text. She laughs, and some of the tension releases from her shoulders.
“This doesn’t surprise me,” she admits.
I tuck loose strands of hair behind her ears. “Now, about those doughnuts in bed …”
