Page 124 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Her eyes lift to mine.

For half a second, neither of us moves.

Then Helena, who picks up the donut, says, “Can we not flirt over the stolen pastry corpse?”

Evan laughs again.

Daisy’s face warms, but she turns away before anyone can make a meal of it. “Walkthrough. Back to business. No one mention pastry corpses to my mother.”

The rest of the walkthrough goes smoother after that. Daisy keeps the adults moving. I answer questions without sounding like I want to chew glass. Evan asks what I think about playing defense when you’re smaller than the forwards, and I tell him the truth.

“Angles beat size if you learn them right.”

He looks at me then. Really looks.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You need someone willing to teach angles instead of yelling about size.”

His mouth twitches.

That and the laughter might be the first real things he gives us all morning.

By late morning, the mist is gone, the tasting room is about to open, and I’m carrying another crate toward the barn when Daisy’s whole body changes.

I follow her line of sight.

A black mid-size SUV pulls up near the front of the house.

A man gets out first.

Polished. Expensive coat. Perfect hair. He probably calls cruelty unfortunate timing and betrayal a complicated season.

Liam.

I know before Daisy says his name.

Carla steps out from the passenger side in cream trousers, a camel coat, and sunglasses she does not need in gloomy weather. She looks composed enough to make a statue feel disorganized.

Daisy inhales beside me.

Not much.

Enough.

“Painless,” she says under her breath.

I set the crate down.

She notices.

Of course she does.

“Rule Four,” she says.

“I know.”

“Do you?”