Faking It with the Frenemy

A bouquet of white lilies that smell amazing. Check.

Everything else I can think of… Check, check, check.

I stare at the elegant Éternité box on the dining room table. Kim should be home in about half an hour. But…what if she comes home early? Salazar might’ve given her some extra time off.

I peer out the peephole. I can’t see all the way to the spot in front of her unit, though. Ugh. Annie needs to install a better peephole.

Like what? A peepiscope? A small voice in my head cackles.

Sometimes that part of me isn’t very helpful, especially when it gives me I told you sos. Princess mewls next to me. Even that sounds like “Moron. You’re gonna mess it up more.”

Screw it.

I step out into the hall with the box and the flowers, then lean against a spot between her door and mine to wait. She probably won’t immediately turn away if she sees my peace offering. Well, more like a bribe to buy some time.

I spent some time thinking while driving to Éternité. It’s obvious Kim’s avoiding me. And I feel terrible that I ruined the relationship that was growing between us. I even saw the most perfect thing on my way back home—the one item Salazar didn’t mention because, despite his claim to Cupid-hood, he doesn’t know as much as he thinks.

It’s almost nine when Kim finally appears. She looks like she’s been sweating, and her hair’s a little messy. Somehow, the mild dishevelment makes her more approachable and sexy. My heart picks up a beat, and a slick film of perspiration coats my palms. I surreptitiously wipe them on my pants as I push myself off the wall.

Her expression freezes into shock for a moment.

“Hey, Kim,” I say.

She smooths her face. “Hi.”

The wariness in her eyes is like a stab in the chest, and remorse floods through me, erasing all the pretty words I’ve been rehearsing. “Here. For you.” I thrust the flowers and the box at her before I can catch myself. Dammit. I was supposed to say something—can’t remember what at the moment—and make her smile first. “I thought you’d like them. At least the crème brûlées.”

She looks at my offering, then sighs softly. “Wyatt, thanks, but…you really don’t have to.” She doesn’t meet my eyes. “It’s fine.”

“But I’m not fine,” I say.

That gets her attention, because her body language changes; she’s no longer trying to push past me, but pausing to hear what I have to say.

I grasp at the small opening like a drowning man reaching for a floating oar. “Kim… I have to tell you something. Do you mind if we move this to some place other than the hall?”

Not that a refusal is going to stop me. Nothing’s going to stop me right now, not until I erase the unhappiness inside her.

“Okay.” She takes a step toward her apartment, then stops. “Actually, let’s go to your place. Yuna ordered a cast-iron skillet from Amazon last night.”

“Uh, okay. What does that have to do with—”

“She doesn’t cook.”

I smile a little. It’s a good sign that Kim cares about not having my skull cracked open. Or that’s what I tell myself, even though a voice that sounds like Yuna says Kim doesn’t like to have blood on her floor because blood’s impossible to get out and she doesn’t want to lose her deposit.

Kim and I walk into my place. There’s a really good burgundy breathing on the table, and some bubbly chilling in an ice bucket, which is full of half-melted ice and dripping with condensation.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

“I thought you might like something with the crème brûlée. I got it from Éternité.”

Instead of sitting at the table, she crosses her arms. “Like I said, you don’t have to do this, Wyatt. I didn’t say what I said on Saturday to…” She sighs, her eyes going slightly upward, as if she’s searching for the right words. “I didn’t do that to pressure you into something you don’t want.”

“I know,” I say. “And I thank you for that. But is it okay if I tell you why I’m doing this?”

She nods warily.

I put the box and the flowers on the table and stand in front of her. As I place my hands on her shoulders, she flinches. That hurts, but physical contact is important now. I dip my head, making sure we’re making eye contact as well. My heart pounds with anxiety as I see the guardedness in her gaze.