Page 84 of Fake it ’Til Fall

He grunts.

“That one means you know I’m right.”

“That one means write it down.”

I do, and then read out loud, “The Ten Rules of Fake Dating a Wolfcraft.”

Bea looks over from the counter. “Oh, this should be good.”

I freeze.

Forrest slowly turns his head.

Bea smiles. “What? I live here.”

“You own the café,” I say.

“Same thing.”

Forrest mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Witness protection.”

I ignore both of them and read.

After I finish, Bea sets two mugs on the counter with more force than necessary. “I’m pretending I heard none of this.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“I heard all of it.”

“Less thank you.”

She points at Forrest. “You hurt her, I’ll poison your coffee.”

Forrest doesn’t blink. “I’ll probably be the one with the headache by the end of that week, but it seems like no one will care.”

Bea points at me next. “You hurt him, I make you work poetry night alone.”

I gasp. “That is excessive.”

“Then behave.”

“We are behaving,” I say.

Forrest grunts.

I point at him. “See? Agreement.”

“That was not an agreement,” he says.

“It was emotionally adjacent.”

“So,” I say, aiming for breezy and arriving somewhere near legally nervous, “we’re fake dating.”

“Not until November,” he says. “And only for one week.”

“Obviously.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not trying to trap you into a timeshare.”

Then Forrest caps the pen, slides the notebook back to me, and says, “Eat your sandwich, girlfriend.”