Say It's Not Fake

I heard Adam’s younger sister sigh heavily. “Can you give me ten minutes? I’ve been throwing up all day. Whoever called it morning sickness was delusional. Morning my ass.”

Marlena Decate—soon to be Wyatt—was ten weeks pregnant with her second child. Her fiancé, Jeremy Wyatt, was a partner at the law firm and completely overprotective. I heard them arguing about her going home to rest only two hours earlier. It was followed by her door closing and the two of them coming out thirty minutes later looking a little more rumpled but less pissy with each other.

It was hard working with so many happily coupled couples. I wasn’t the kind of woman to feel sorry for myself about my lack of personal life, particularly given my history of shitty relationships, but being surrounded by so much healthy love was almost too much to handle. Between Lena and Jeremy and my sister and Adam, I felt like I was in a damn romance novel.

I looked out the large window that overlooked the street and square beyond. I could see Kyle and his crew working. Kyle was knelt down scooping mulch into flower beds. Even from that distance, I could see his muscles beneath his cotton polo. I could watch him bending over all day long. My mouth went dry, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

I had lied that morning when I had told him that I didn’t know where he lived. I knew perfectly well where Kyle’s house was. And maybe it wasn’t entirely by accident that I ran past the two-story brick colonial every morning when I couldn’t sleep.

I wasn’t stalking the guy because I knew I wouldn’t see him. It’s not as if I was standing behind a tree and watching him through his window. But there was something weirdly comforting about running past the place where he slept. Where he played with his daughter.

Kyle was a reminder of the girl I used to be. One that was worthy of being loved.

“Excuse me, but is Ms. Decate ready for me?” an overweight man asked, looking annoyed. Crap, I had forgotten to tell Lena’s client she would be a little late. Damn Kyle Webber and his awesome muscles.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Mankin. She will only be another few minutes. She’s finishing up with something and will be right out.” Mr. Mankin huffed and sat back down heavily in his chair. The phone began to ring, and I quickly answered it as my eyes once again drifted to the landscaping crew digging up dirt across the road.

“Earth to Whitney.” A hand snapped in front of my face, and I jumped.

Lena laughed. “You okay? You look a little dazed.”

The phone was still in my hand even though the call had ended a minute before. Jesus, I was ridiculous. I put the phone back in the cradle. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little spacey today.”

“Clearly,” Lena retorted, clearly amused. She looked around the waiting area. “Hi, Mr. Mankin. Just give me a second, and I’ll be right with you.” I could hear the man’s irritated grumble, and Lena rolled her eyes, her back to him.

“He’s such an ornery jerk,” she whispered. She leaned down. “Will you do me a favor?” She shoved a twenty-dollar bill in my hand. “I need a ginger ale and a sleeve of Saltines stat. I don’t want Jeremy to know, so be discreet. The last thing I need is for him to lecture me on how I should be at home resting.” She made a face, and I snickered.

I shoved the money in my pocket and got to my feet. “You got it. I’ll be right back.” I stepped outside into the balmy spring afternoon, careful not to look at the town square.

The problem was I had to cross through it to get to the drug store.

Head down. Pretend you don’t see him. Don’t make this more uncomfortable than it already is ...

As I walked close to Kyle’s crew, I could hear two of the guys obviously discussing me.

“Damn, now there’s a hot piece of ass. Check out those legs.” The thin guy ogled me as I hurried by. I thought about stopping and telling the guys to take their sexist comments and shove them up their collective asses, but I didn’t want to create a scene, particularly with Kyle nearby.

Don’t draw attention. Don’t let on that you’ve heard. Just keep going.

I had learned the hard way the importance of keeping your head down and pretending things didn’t bother you.

“What I wouldn’t give to have them wrapped around—” another guy started to say but was immediately cut off.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Kyle barked.

I glanced up and met his eyes. Why was it every time that happened, I felt as if I was in slow motion?