Page 21 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“It had diagrams.”

“Of drills.”

“Useful diagrams.”

“Emotionally bankrupt diagrams.”

His eyes lift to mine again. “You got a recommendation, Thorn?”

I should hate the way he says my last name, but the truth is, Forrest makes it sound less like a family legacy and more like a challenge he hasn’t decided whether to accept.

“As a matter of fact,” I say, turning toward the counter, “I do.”

I move behind it, reach beneath the register, and pull out the stack I set aside yesterday. Three books. Carefully chosen.

Not that I spent my lunch break thinking about him.

I did not.

I multitasked.

Women can be productive while making poor emotional decisions.

Forrest’s eyes narrow the moment he sees me return with them. “Absolutely not.”

“You haven’t even heard the options.”

“You’re holding them like weapons.”

“Books are weapons. Against ignorance. Bad taste. Men who think character development is optional.”

“I have character.”

“You have posture and a dog.”

“More than most men.”

Unfortunately, he is not wrong.

I set the books on the table between us. “Option one, literary fiction with emotional repression, family dysfunction, and a man who doesn’t know how to apologize. You’ll relate.”

“No.”

“Option two, a mystery set in a small town where everyone has secrets and half the suspects are overly involved in local committees.”

His jaw shifts. “Mom keeps me updated on what’s happening in Winterberry Cove.” He shivers. “Too realistic.”

“Option three,” I say, sliding the last book forward, “a romance.”

“No.”

“You said no too fast.”

“I said it at the correct speed.”

“It has a meddling family.”

He points at the book. “It has a shirtless man on the cover with fake abs.”