The Real Deal

But as I watch Theo laugh and chitchat with Cory and the others, something hits me: Theo’s having fun. In fact, he’s been having fun the whole time, and it occurs to me how much I want him to have a good time. Not just for me, but for him as well. I want him to know that family doesn’t have to be painful.

I hired him for what felt like a most perfect reason at the time—to ward off the hometown matchmaking scheme my family has been hatching to get me to move back to Wistful. But in light of what Theo shared this morning, my concerns seem petty. As I glance around the cozy living room of a B and B that’s stuffed full of family, my dilemma suddenly feels unimportant.

There’s no doubt that I still need to focus on my long-term career. The dating diet is still my meal plan. But thanks to Theo, I can see that though my family meddles, they have my best interests at heart. From my mother and her wish to set me up with the hardware store owner to Jeanie and the mortgage banker, they all want the same thing—they want me to be happy. We might have different notions on how to get there, but the goal is the same. And while I have no more interest in their matchmaking than I did before, I no longer want Theo to serve as my shield. I no longer want to lie. I don’t want to deceive people I love.

I want something else now. Something I never expected. After we call a halt to the game, I pop upstairs to brush my teeth, and I text Claire.




What if we could be good together?

I don’t mean forever, and I don’t even mean when I return to New York. But maybe for now? Maybe for the next few days we won’t have to pretend. Maybe we can be real for this sliver of time.

A small laugh bursts from my lips. I’ve got it bad for the guy I hired. This is like a movie, and as I set down my toothbrush, I wonder what the spunky, crazy heroine would do.

I stare at my shiny white teeth in the mirror and turn over the question in my mind until I find the answer.

“She’d show him what real is,” I say to the girl staring back at me.

But I have to take care of one itty-bitty pressing matter first.

I check the time. I can’t do it yet, but I will this afternoon. Right now, I have a game of Junk in the Trunk to win. I head outside and help Aunt Jeanie, Cousin Katie, Libby, Dean, and Theo fill the empty tissue boxes with plastic Ping-Pong balls.

Theo holds one up. “Voilà,” he says in his perfect French accent.

“Real French,” I say, looking at him.

“Oui, mademoiselle, but only pour vous.”

Dean arches a brow. “You can do accents?”

“I can,” Theo answers.

“Do the others,” I say proudly, and this time it’s real pride. I don’t feel phony anymore, because my feelings aren’t fake. Maybe this started as a ruse, but it’s turning into something else.

Theo waves them off deferentially. “Oh no, I surely can’t do that at the moment, love.” Full-on British, and the proper enunciation makes my toes tingle.

As we tie Kleenex boxes around our waists, so they’re perched on our rears, Theo slips in and out of his accents, entertaining the whole crew. By the time he finishes with a “thanks, y’all” in delicious southern, he has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand.

My mother grabs the megaphone and calls the start to Junk in the Trunk. “You have one minute to get rid of all eight balls.”

We shake and shimmy in a race to eject the Ping-Pong balls from our boxes. Bob’s big sons get in on the action, and it cracks me up to see the guys that Theo privately told me he calls Huey, Dewey, and Louie shaking their big bodies. Aunt Jeanie is a master, her athleticism in full swing as she shows off how well she can wiggle her rear with a tissue box on it. Her husband, Greg, laughs when she laughs, shakes when she shakes, and kisses her on the cheek when one of the rounds ends. He adores her, even if he hardly speaks. He shows it in his actions, if not his words. Katie catcalls Theo when he tries to eject the Ping-Pong balls, shouting, “April thinks you look hot doing that!”

I laugh at my bawdy cousin.

For all his marathoning prowess, Dean is horrible at Junk in the Trunk, but he shrugs it off with a smile.

We all laugh.

Even my sister and her husband join in for a few rounds. I glance over at my mom, and see she’s pried the baby away from my sister once more, and is clutching Andi tight as my dad takes over megaphone duties.

I give Tess a wave, and she manages a small smile, her ponytail whipping back and forth as she shakes.

We’re playing a ridiculous game with people we love under the summer sun.

For the first time, Theo looks like a complete dork rather than a cool guy. But you’re not supposed to look cool or athletic in Junk in the Trunk. You’re supposed to look silly. We keep it up, going for round after round after round. When we collapse onto the grass, one of Bob’s young granddaughters has dominated, winning three of five rounds as the first to empty her junk in the trunk. Jeanie wins one, and Emma wins another.

Once the event is over, I turn to my fake boyfriend, and my heart skips a beat because his smile looks genuine even though he lost. He loops an arm around my waist and tugs me close. He drops a soft kiss on the end of my nose.

Is it a kiss for the crowd? Or one just for me? I cross my fingers, wishing for the latter.





Chapter Twenty-five

Theo

I’m losing. What the hell? I should be good at this stuff. Games are my bailiwick, but who the hell knew the teenager would own me in Junk in the Trunk? I splash water on my face in the bathroom of our room at the inn. I scrub a hand over my jaw.

Focus, I tell myself.

I need to win the individual prize. I need it to be fully free and clear. April’s fee will get me most of the way out of Addison’s debt, and the five thousand dollars would get me over the hump.

But it’s hard to focus when the woman I’m with is so distracting. When I want her, and when I want her to have the time of her life, too. I ask myself if I’m good to April. I kissed her. I messed with her head. I unloaded my sob story. I kissed her again. But I’m doing what I was hired to do. I’m keeping the matchmakers at bay, and I’m operating as her arm candy, so she can stay on her dating diet. As an unexpected bonus, her family actually seems to like me.

I step out of the bathroom and stop in my tracks, since she’s in the room now. She’s bent over her suitcase, rooting around for something in it. She startles and straightens. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I was just going to change for Hula-Hoop.” She drops her voice to a whisper and glances around furtively. “I put Velcro on the back of my skirt so the Hula-Hoop will never fall off.”

“You trickster,” I say, though I know she’s joking.

“Truth is, I’m kind of awesome at Hula-Hoop.” She wiggles an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

She holds up a palm like she’s in court swearing on a Bible. “Truth. Whole truth.”

“How’d you get so good at Hula-Hooping?”

“I lost horribly the last time, so I took a Hula-Hoop class, since I was determined to win.”

“Damn, that’s impressive.”

She shoots me a come and get me look. “I’m gonna take you down.”

“Yeah? You talking to me?” I say, sliding into De Niro mode.

“Oh yeah. I’m talking to you, and I’m going to school you.”

“You think so?”

She showboats, miming the moves she’ll do. “I can Hula-Hoop around my neck. Around my calves. I can jump in and out of the hoop. I can send it round and round my body in a crazy diagonal.” She slams her palms to my chest. “So take that.”

I grab her hands. “That so?”

“I’m going to Hula-Hoop circles around you.”

I grip her hands harder. “What if I Hula-Hoop circles around you?”

“Can you even Hula-Hoop?” She arches a skeptical brow.

“No,” I admit.

She grins. “Then I’ll beat you,” she says, taunting me as I rope my fingers through hers. She lets out a small gasp. The rush of air makes me want to do more to her. Hold her tighter.

“You’re trying to best your boyfriend,” I say, and those last two words nearly trip me up. They are precisely what I’m supposed to be, but they sound truer than they have before. How is that possible? How can I feel like her boyfriend in only a few days?