Page 191 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“Failed.”

“Rude, but fair.” She looks down at the table again, at the cards that give need a private door instead of a public stage. “But I want this. For Evan. For the kids who keep learning they have to be exceptional before adults notice they need help. For the ones who aren’t charming enough, loud enough, talented enough, easy enough.”

She swallows, then looks back at me. “And for you.”

I go still.

“Daisy.”

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you’re about to reject something kind because accepting it makes you feel like a Victorian widow with unresolved shoulder tension.”

I stare at her.

She shrugs. “I panicked. That one got away from me.”

“It was specific.”

“I contain multitudes and questionable metaphors.”

“You don’t have to do this for me,” I say.

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.” Her eyes hold mine. “I’m not doing it because you need saving, Wolfe. You don’t. You need partners. A structure. A place to put all that deeply inconvenient integrity before it starts rearranging furniture again.”

“That sideboard was wrong.”

“That sideboard was emotionally disruptive.”

“It was blocking the flow.”

“Look at you. Already fluent in event trauma.”

A rough laugh slips out before I can stop it.

Daisy smiles, small and pleased, then ruins me by going serious again.

“I’m doing this because it matters,” she says. “Because you matter. Because I think maybe the thing we both needed wasn’t a town approving of us. Maybe it was building something good enough that their approval stops being the point.”

For a second, I can’t answer.

“I also reserve the right to make colorless spreadsheets and complain about liability waivers,” she adds. “That’s love language adjacent. Do not make it weird.”

I step closer.

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t step back.

“Day.”

“No,” she whispers, eyes narrowing. “Don’t say my name like that in a room with votive candles and a philanthropic awakening.”

“Why?”