Page 79 of Fake it ’Til Fall

Annoyingly decent.

He doesn’t want to turn the real parts into props.

Unfortunately, I do not have an emotional filing cabinet prepared for unexpected decency from Forrest Wolfcraft. I’ll percolate on that later.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll try not to do . . . that.”

His eyes narrow. “That is not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

Rule Five: The Turning Page stays ours.

Forrest reads it upside down.

“Obviously,” he says.

The way he says it makes the word feel less obvious.

Rude.

“Rule six,” he says. “No social media.”

“Agreed.” I write it down. “I deleted all my social media after my breakup.”

“For health?”

“No. Because I reported three of Carla’s photos while spiraling at two in the morning and decided the internet had become a crime scene.”

“Rule seven,” I say. “We’re private but exclusive.”

Forrest looks at me.

“Fake exclusive,” I clarify. “Old enough that I don’t look unstable, new enough that no one is offended they didn’t know.”

“How long?”

“Since July.”

“Wow, I got a dog and a girlfriend?” He frowns. “Busy summer.”

“You’re welcome.”

“For what?”

“For making you seem emotionally productive.”

Forrest gives me a grunt.

Not his annoyed grunt. Not his move-along grunt. This one sits lower, rougher, like a man trying to object while his common sense packs a bag and leaves town.

I write:

Rule Seven: Private but exclusive. Started in July. New enough to explain discretion. Old enough to avoid looking unstable.

Forrest leans closer to read it.

Too close.