Page 17 of Rumours and Romance
I send a silent prayer of thanks to Paige and her ridiculous organization skills. This might only be our third book club meeting, but it’s very clear that she takes it seriously. Much more seriously than the rest of us do, that’s for sure.
Sure enough, for the next hour she keeps us on task, debating the merits of the book we read. Honestly, I barely remember it. Since finding Milo on the side of the road just a few weeks ago, I feel like my life has been one crazy thing after another. But I manage to hold my own in the conversation, which naturally turns to a debate over which sex scene was the hottest. My reprieve doesn’t last forever, though. When we’ve gone through all of Paige’s questions — a first, I might add— Summer refills our wine glasses and all eyes turn back to me.
“Okay. Now that we’ve all agreed keeping a pregnancy secret from the father is not a story line any of us enjoy, can we please talk about the romance unfolding in real life?” Serena turns to me and rubs her hands together gleefully. “I want all the dirty deets. Is he a good kisser? Have you slept with him? Does he like doggy style?” She snorts after her last question and I raise my eyebrow.
“How much wine have you had?”
She’s still giggling to herself, so Paige answers. “She’s finished almost one bottle.”
“It’s the dance moms. I swear they’re going to drive me to an early grave,” Serena moans. “Nina needs a private lesson. Taryn should be given a solo. Why didn’t you spend any time with Farrah,” she says in a mocking tone. “Seriously, they all think their little butterfly is the most precious thing ever, but what they don’t get is, I have a class full of girls who all deserve attention and private lessons and solos. But I can’t give it to them all.”
I cringe, because it does sound pretty annoying trying to deal with demanding dance moms. But I keep quiet, because magically, Serena has managed to switch the conversation away from her annoying questions about Jackson and I onto herself. I hate lying, and lying to my best friends is even worse. I might need to talk to Jackson about letting the girls in on our plan, because I don’t know if I can keep this up, and we haven’t even gone on our first “date.” Not to mention, if the whole point was to get everyone off my back about my love life, then this is already an epic failure. If anything, the attention and the questions have become worse.
By the time seven o’clock rolls around the next evening, I am mentally and physically exhausted. Not only was it another long day at the bakery, but I’m still fielding comments and questions about my new relationship. At this point, all I can hope is that something else happens in town for everyone to focus on, but that’s the curse of a small town. Your business is everyone’s business until something new and exciting happens.
Something tells me that tonight is only going to fuel the fire of everyone gossiping about us. It will be our first time out in public pretending to be together. We’re keeping it simple, with dinner at Bella Mia, the one fancy-ish restaurant in town. It’s cheesy and predictable. But our options are limited if we want to maximize exposure. Going to Westport for dinner doesn’t really achieve our goal of solidifying our status as a couple.
A knock at the door sends Milo into his usual barking frenzy. When I open the door, my stupid heart flutters. Jackson in a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up is sexy. Jackson shirtless on the beach is sexy.
Jackson wearing a leather jacket over a fitted black V-neck shirt and dark jeans is…something beyond sexy.
“You look beautiful.” His voice rumbles over me, sending chills down my spine. The good kind of chills. The kind that make me want to pull him in for a kiss and see if he smells as good as I remember.
Fake relationship. Fake. No sniffing allowed.
Something tells me I might have to remind myself of this a few more times tonight.
“Thank you, you look great, too.” The words sound normal, not like I’m an animal in heat, thank God.
He smiles, and holds out his hand. I stare at it for a minute before I realize he wants me to take it. I do, and our fingers thread together almost naturally.
“I thought we would walk to the restaurant so we can enjoy some wine,” he says. How is he so relaxed right now when I’m wound tighter than an antique clock? “Plus, it gives us even more opportunities to be seen together.” He turns to me and winks.
“Yeah…sounds good.” I stutter out the words, still trying to get over how good it feels doing something as simple as holding his hand.
Jackson fills the walk with conversation, my brain operating on autopilot as I respond. We pass a few people who give us knowing smiles. It’s remarkable how easy it is to fool people into thinking we’re actually dating.
“Relax, Mila.” Jackson’s warm breath caresses my ear, and I feel him gently squeeze my hand. “You look like you’re walking to your execution, not a date.”
“A fake date,” I whisper back. “Did I mention I hate lying?”
His chuckle reaches me. “Then this was a really stupid idea. Too late now, buttercup.”
I stumble to a stop. “Buttercup?”
He shrugs. “Just trying out pet names. You don’t like that one? How about love muffin. That works with your bakery.”
I stare up at him. “Who are you, and what happened to the Jackson that was so standoffish and would only order bran muffins?”
He slings his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in close. “I was corrupted by your apple nut muffins. Was I really that standoffish?”
“Uh, yeah, a little.”
A slight frown comes over his face. “Sorry. I guess I was still dealing with everything. Moving here was a big change.”
My heart pangs as I remember everything that led to his move. I feel myself soften into his side. “I get it. And I’m glad that you’re happy here.”
We walk the rest of the way to the restaurant with his arm around my shoulder. When we get there, the hostess shows us to a booth tucked away in the back. A single candle is in the middle of the white tablecloth, and the overall ambiance is one of romance.
