Say It's Not Fake

Whitney Galloway flicked a strand of dark red hair out of her face. She was dressed in a tight-fitting grey pencil skirt that stopped just above her knees and a loose yellow blouse. Her hair, which I knew to be long and thick, was held up with a large clip.

As if sensing my eyes on her, Whitney turned her head slightly, her gaze meeting mine for only a second. One breath. Two breaths.

That was it.

Then she turned away and walked into Jenkins, Decate, and Wyatt, where she worked as the receptionist.

Adam clicked his fingers in front of my face. “Seriously, Web? Why don’t you just go ask the woman out if you’re still drooling over her?”

I drew myself upright and scowled at my friend. “Shut the hell up, Decate. You’re full of shit.”

Adam looked ready to argue—as was his nature—but then miraculously stopped himself—for once. “Okay, whatever, it’s your business.” He checked the time on his phone. “Okay, I’d better get in there. So, I’ll see you and Katie around five on Saturday?”

“Sure. See you then,” I said, trying not to look over his shoulder at the front door of his office building.

I wasn’t the same guy who had gone out to California eight years ago, desperate for the girl I loved to love me back. I was a father now. I owned my own home and ran my own business. I was a far cry from the lovesick idiot I used to be.

The door to Adam’s building pushed open, and my heart started beating against my ribcage like a sledgehammer … And then immediately slowed at the sight of Jeremy Wyatt, Adam’s partner and soon to be brother-in-law.

Get a grip, Webber.

With a final wave, Adam turned and headed toward Jeremy, who also waved a greeting, which I returned.

I lifted a hand to shield my eyes from the sun, gazing toward the tall brick building. She was there. Just inside the window. Sat behind a desk. I could almost make out the intense focus on her face as she stared at her computer screen.

I lifted the shovel and slammed it back into the dirt, taking out all of my frustration on the bush and pretending it had nothing to do with wanting the one woman I could never, ever have.

Chapter 2

Whitney

It had been a crazy week at work, non-stop since Monday morning. Adam’s law office was booming, which I liked because if I was busy it meant less time being stuck in my own head. That was a place I definitely didn’t want to spend time.

I walked into my parents’ house—well, technically it was my house now. I had bought the house from Mom last year. After dad died suddenly, she was unable to keep up with the cost of running her home. I had insisted it was a sound financial decision and the perfect way to use the savings I had accumulated over the years in my very good paying job.

I hadn’t wanted to admit to anyone that my motivations were entirely emotional—though I was pretty sure my sister Meg saw right through me.

Why did I care if people knew I bought my childhood home because I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else living there? Why did it matter if everyone knew that I came home because I missed Southport? That I missed the simplicity of the life I had there. And I missed the unconditional love of family that I had spent the last decade staunchly avoiding.

Because at some point along the way, I had decided it was easier to exist as an emotionless zombie devoid of real feeling. If you didn’t care—you couldn’t get hurt. It was a lonely way to live, but it was an armor I had constructed carefully over time. Dismantling it would be difficult.

The house was quiet. “Mom?” I called out, kicking off my high heels by the front door and making my way down the hallway toward the kitchen where I expected to find my mom.

When she wasn’t there, I frowned. “Mom?” I said a little louder, looking for a note in case she had gone out.

It was then I heard my mom’s laughter coming from the back yard. I instantly stiffened. It was strange to hear. I hadn’t heard the sound in a long time. My mom hadn’t done much laughing or smiling for that matter since my dad died. Meg and I both worried at how serious our normally boisterous mother had become. Grief had a way of leaching out the best parts of you, leaving behind pieces that were only fragments of the person you used to be.

“Mom?” I said again as I stepped out onto the patio … And came up short, shocked to find my mother sat at the wicker table, sipping a glass of wine with a man I vaguely recognized.