Liars (Licking Thicket 2)

“Oh, I think—”

“He was fibbing so I wouldn’t stop practicing? Yeah.” I forced a smile. “Exactly my conclusion. But I’ll tell you what, we got good at it. Sometimes he kissed me and I couldn’t remember my name or what I came for.”

Miss Sara sighed a little wistfully, which basically expressed my own feelings on the subject, and started transferring the still-warm muffins to a lined basket.

“And we talked lots too. Which was almost as nice as the kissing.” I shoved another piece of bacon in my mouth and chewed pensively. “Okay, that’s a lie, but it was a very close second.”

Miss Sara’s lips twitched.

“And he came and took me out to lunch Monday and yesterday. And then Tuesday I walked down to the splash park off Tater Creek Road to meet him and Marigold after their parent group thing, and we chatted with Ava and her friend Ginger, and Maureen from the grocery store—did you know she and LaTonya are trying for their second?—and a guy named Ward, who’s a work-from-home single dad and seemed super excited that Diesel was around, since he’s usually the only guy there. But Ward’s straight,” I added. “Pretty sure.”

I winced, remembering how I’d interrogated him like a graduate of the Dunn Johnson school of interrogation. I wasn’t proud of it.

“And?” Miss Sara prompted. “What else?”

I shook my head and shrugged.

There was more. So much more. A week’s worth of the best experiences of my life. Little acorns of truth I was squirreling away for the long winter after the lie of our relationship was over.

Like, when I’d caught Diesel counseling his hens one morning and he’d given me his sweet, sheepish grin in response, the way my soul had wanted to stretch out like a cat in the sunshine was very, very real. And the way my breath had caught when I’d walked into the kitchen after putting Marigold to bed the other night and found him sitting at the kitchen table, the warm overhead light burnishing his brown-gold hair and glinting off those sexy glasses as he fussed over receipts from the salvage yard? That was real too.

The way his deep voice had rumbled through me when I’d snuck up behind him, nipped at his earlobe, and asked him if he felt like “practicing” some more, and he’d replied, “Anytime you like, baby,” was real. And the feeling of his big hand splayed against my back when he’d pushed to his feet, turned on a song called “I Do Not Love You,” which turned out to be the most romantic song ever, and swayed me around the hardwood floor? That was the most real thing I’d ever felt in my life.

But those moments were private.

Special.

Mine.

“And it’s been a great week!” I forced myself to shrug like I didn’t care much so she wouldn’t see I cared too much. “The best ever. I’ve enjoyed every second.”

“Then why’re you talking like it’s over?” Miss Sara tucked a strand of white-blonde hair behind her ear, leaned her elbows on the counter, and regarded me steadily. “Why not just continue as you have been?”

“Well, ’cause it’ll all be over in a couple hours. Remember, this was all so we could convince the caseworker doing the home interview this morning that our relationship is real and stable.” I wasn’t sure if I was reminding her or myself. “It was fun, but it was all for a purpose. And it can’t go on beyond this without making things strange. And real. And complicated.” I flailed my hands. “And really strangely complicated. That’s why we’ve stuck to just kissing.”

Or at least this was the reason I’d told myself that Diesel hadn’t tried to take things further than kissing, even though I was pretty sure I’d been giving out a really strong vibe of Fuck Me Please. I’d been way too embarrassed to actually ask him about it.

I checked the clock beyond Miss Sara’s head. “It’s eight thirty now. The inspection starts in an hour and a half, and we have got this in the bag. Ava Siegel got a whole crew to come out and beautify the place—bikers doing the painting, and little old ladies hauling big pots of sedum to put by the front door. Heck, even the Camper Scout troop came by to hang a fall wreath on the front door and the front door of the chicken coop. The place is cleaner than clean. There’s not an unhealthy snack in the fridge. Every outlet has a cover. It’s still small as heck, but we’ve got ideas for that too. I mean… I mean Diesel has ideas.”

I blew out a breath, thinking of the renovation plans Diesel and I had tried to hash out the night before. Diesel recognized that he needed more room to house Marigold permanently. I’d suggested he try talking to the owner of the huge Victorian that abutted his property from the back, on the far side of a thick tree break, to see if they were interested in selling since the house was gorgeous and perfect for a family; Diesel had said no way.