Page 115 of Faking Cinderella
He wouldn’t have made me unhappy, but he wouldn’t have made me happy either.
Set me on fire.
Been an obsession.
All with just a few touches and one soul-imprinting kiss.
Now I don’t have to bend to whatever my family wants. I’ve made enough of a name for myself that if my current plans to destroy my father fail, I’ll find another way.
And besides—this is, obviously, just a fling.
So rushing back to the cabin to see Rhys before dinner once I finally have the laundry room cleaned up?
Damn right.
Disappointeddoesn’t begin to cover how I feel when I get there and it’s empty though.
I’d thought Rhys would be here.
That we’d get ready together. The long way. With equal parts assistance and interference from each other.
Apparently not.
I’ve fixed myself up in a fall dress, clearance rack cowboy boots, and a jean jacket, taking extra care with my makeup and picking simple hoop earrings—and I’m locking the front door so I can head to Lucky’s house when Rhys pulls up in his truck.
“Want a ride?” he calls through the open passenger window.
Training tells me not to smile. Not to let them see when you want something. When something makes you happy.
Fuck training.
I’m not just smiling. I’m beaming. “Right now?”
“Already late, Skillet.”
Dammit. “Then yes, thank you.”
He jerks his head in aclimb on upgesture. “Hop in.”
“Did you come back here just to offer me a ride?”
“I can buy applesandthe Chex Mix you’ll claim you picked upandtime it right to give you a lift.”
There’s a snort from the woods on the other side of the house.
We both look that way, him from the safety of the vehicle, me from the porch.
“Get in the truck,” he murmurs. “Don’t run. Just go quickly.”
He’s parked practically at the front door, so it’s easy to do as he’s asked.
I heft myself into the black leather passenger seat and shut my door just as the moose wanders into the yard.
“Has it followed us everywhere today?” I whisper, leaning closer to Rhys while I take in the immaculate interior. Freshly cleaned, or is it always neat?
I’m guessing always neat.
“Different moose at the center,” he tells me.
