Fakers (Licking Thicket 1)

I really wished she wouldn’t put it that way.

“Is that right?” Pastor Mitchell said kindly. “Well. Nice of you to come home and take that on, Brooks.”

I smiled. “Oh, it’s not—”

“And, of course, this means Brooks will be competing in the Lope on Tuesday,” Mama continued, patting my shoulder proudly.

Wait, was I? Fuck. I needed to read that itinerary. The Lickin’ Lope was a four-mile run through the woods carrying a metal pail filled with milk. I couldn’t remember what it was supposed to commemorate, or if I’d ever known in the first place. What I did know was that folks here trained for this event like it was the Olympics, and rivalry was cutthroat, even though the only prize was a tiny metal plaque and bragging rights.

“That right, Brooks?” Pastor Mitchell grinned. “My son Theo’s in the Lope. You’ll have some competition.”

“No doubt.” Considering I hadn’t run a trail in a decade, let alone carrying a pail of dairy product—that sort of thing was frowned on at my gym—it was going to be a bloodbath.

“Nonsense,” Mama said. “Brooks won the Lope for the first time when he was fifteen. Youngest Lope winner ever. And then he won it three years in a row. I’m confident he’ll win again.”

She nodded once, like that was the end of it, and I felt a stirring of that same feeling I’d had when I was a kid and my parents said stuff like that. Like I wanted to win, just to show them I could.

This whole week was going to be a shitshow.

Pastor Mitchell smiled. “And will you be in the charity bachelor auction Friday? Highest-earning bachelor gets to pick which charity gets the money.”

“Me? No! Nope. My brother will be there.” Assuming Dunn showed up, which a quick glance around the yard showed he hadn’t bothered to do today. My brother had a good heart, but was shit at follow-through, and it looked like that hadn’t changed any more than anything else in the Thicket. “But I’m not a bachelor. I have a boyfriend. Paul. And he’s very jealous.” I pointed toward the oak tree, and we all turned to look at Paul, who was crouching down, playing peekaboo with someone’s toddler. “Ah… you wouldn’t know it to look at him. Clearly. But he’s a real tiger. Grrr. Besides, I’ve got plenty of excitement this week already, trying to do my work while making appearances at some of the events on that itinerary.”

“Some?” My mother narrowed her eyes. “You did read the whole itinerary, right?”

“Oh. Uh. Sure! I just didn’t memorize it,” I lied, wondering where I’d even put the papers. She’d said it was mostly ceremonial, hadn’t she? There was a committee meeting Monday, the dinner dance Saturday. Apparently running through the woods and auctioning bachelors in between?

She frowned. “Lickins’ don’t just happen, Brooks! They’re a lot of work behind the scenes, and that means the Head Licker has to— Oh, good heavens! It’s Monette and Brad!” She waved an arm in the air like she was directing air traffic. “This means Ava’s got to be with them! Calm down, Brooks!” She seized my wrist again and started to tug.

“I’m perfectly calm.” But there was no way on God’s green earth I was letting myself be led over there like a dog on a leash or—I glanced down at my shirt—like a cow to the slaughter either.

“Gamma!” Gracie’s oldest daughter, Payton, said, appearing at our sides with fingers absolutely covered in the remains of chocolate brownie. “I need to wash my hands, and Mama said you’d open the door for me.”

“Oh, Payton…” My mother glanced down at her granddaughter and then over at Ava’s parents, who’d stopped to exchange greetings with some other folks. Her indecision was clear.

“I’ll take her,” I volunteered.

“Nonsense!” my mother argued. “You’ll—”

“Yes!” Payton cried. “Uncle B! Please, Uncle B?”

I gave my mother an exaggerated shrug. I mean, I could hardly disappoint the poor girl. I made a mental note to upgrade her Christmas present.

“Come on, Payton,” I called, already retreating toward the house.

I made sure Payton did the most thorough hand-washing job ever in the upstairs bathroom—the CDC could take tips from me—and when she was done, I told her she could go back out to play.

She hesitated. “I’d rather stay inside and draw pictures.”

I smiled down at her. A girl after my own heart. “Do you have art supplies here at Gamma’s?”

She nodded. “In the den.”

“Perfect. That’s where I’m staying while I’m here, so if anyone asks, you can tell them you’re guarding my room because I asked you to.”

Payton threw her arms around my legs. “You’re the best, Uncle B.”

I totally was. And I figured a “best uncle” would probably spend a minute in the kitchen by the air conditioner, just in case his niece needed him, right?