The Fake Out: Chapter 13

Just before closing the library for lunch, Sabrina Olsen waltzed in. Sabrina had been a couple of years ahead of me in school, one of the popular girls with blonde highlights and manicured nails.

“I’m here to pick up my library holds. If you don’t mind,” she said with a wide smile that showed too many teeth. Like a barracuda. I’d always kind of hoped she and Peter would get together and when she grew tired of him, she’d eat him and save me the trouble of having to dispose of his body one day.

“Not at all.” I searched the hold shelf and pulled out her stack of books. I’d been surprised when I’d gotten her requests. She’d never requested any before.

Long, red-tipped fingernails tapped on the counter as she waited. She gazed around the library with disinterest. “Quiet in here.”

“That’s how we like our libraries.” I set her stack of psychological thrillers on the counter. Maybe she was getting ideas for how to dispose of a body.

She hummed and flipped her long hair behind her shoulder. “I would hope more people were making use of these resources.”

“They do,” I said, hearing the defensiveness creep into my voice. I pulled out a calendar of events and slid it across the counter. “We have preschool story hour and homework help after school. I teach a genealogy class and Internet 101. Lots of things going on here.”

She gave the paper a cursory glance. “I know you know we’re voting in a few weeks to cut the library budget. Such a shame.”

It should be noted Sabrina was also on the city council.

I ground my back teeth. “We don’t know the outcome of that vote yet. I have faith in the good people of the council to make the right decision.”

“Oh, honey, bless your heart. I think we all know how it’s going to turn out.”

With an overbright smile, I handed over her items. “Here’s your books. Due in two weeks.”

Hopefully she could deduce what I didn’t say: You’re the worst.

“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll enjoy every one of them,” she said in a sugary-sweet voice and turned to leave.

That’s when the door opened, and Chris walked in, wearing khakis and a blue chambray button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up halfway, revealing muscly, sun-touched forearms.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, as Jane Austen would say, that there’s something about a man’s forearm that makes a woman’s heart skip a beat. How that part of the male anatomy can be so dang sexy without even trying is a mystery. But there you have it.

With a gasp, Sabrina put a hand on her chest. “Chris Sterns. I’d heard a rumor but… I’m so pleased to meet you.”

Chris ducked his head and shot her a smile of the aw-shucks variety. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Could I get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he said.

Sabrina pulled out her phone and handed it to me. “Would you mind, Mae?”

“Of course not.”

She wasted no time situating herself at Chris’s side, practically burrowing under his arm until he lifted it and put it around her shoulders. I almost laughed at his pained expression, especially when I was ninety-nine percent sure she’d given his backside a good feel-up.

I briefly thought about cutting their heads off in all the photos but, in the end, I was a good girl. Before she left, Sabrina gave him her business card and offered her services for whatever he needed.

“She’s scary,” Chris said, when the door shut behind her.

“It’s the teeth. Very pointy.” I gave him my very best imitation of her smile. “You’re dressed all fancy today.”

He pulled at his collar. “Yeah, I had a meeting this morning.”

For what? I wanted to ask. But it was none of my business. At all. Remember that, Maebell Sampson. “Book club, then?”

With a nod, he followed me back to the office/copy room/break room and set a bag of takeout on the table. “It was my turn to bring lunch. I know we planned on the café, but I was in Houston, so I stopped for barbecue.”

I paused, then pulled the takeout carton toward me. “Oh, okay. That’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

“I planned on something else, that’s all. I like to know things ahead of time.” I glanced up to find him staring at me, lips pressed together. “Are you laughing at me?”

“A little bit. It’s lunch. I didn’t buy you a house.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to have a plan,” I said, my voice taking on the same edge I used with the kids who sometimes came here after school and hid in a corner to giggle over scenes in some racy novel they’d found.

“Nothing wrong with being a little spontaneous either. Some of my best decisions have been made in the spur of a moment.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Deal. Let’s get back to the Pirate’s Booty. More like the Pirate’s Booty Call, amirite?” With a wicked little chuckle, he pulled his book out. Somehow it looked even more tattered and worn than the last time we’d met. “Did you finish?”

“Yup.” I tucked a paper napkin in around my neck.

“So,” he began, flipping to a page he had marked, “what did you think about the whole proposal?”

“Who doesn’t like a good marriage of convenience trope.”

He set his book aside. “What do you mean?”

“Guy needs something from the girl. Girl needs something from the guy. Marriage seems the easiest way to get it. They’re both going into it clear-eyed, no pesky feelings.” I paused and took a bite of my sandwich.

“So, it’s a contract of sorts.” Chris watched me thoughtfully.

“Exactly. Pretty cut and dry. It sounds boring, but”—I held a finger up—“this is a romance novel, so… You put two people in close proximity by circumstance. They can’t leave. They can’t ignore each other. They’re married. It’s either kill each other or fall in love.”

“Sure. Sure,” he murmured.

“There’s always a happy ending in romance novels.” I took a sip of my tea. “That’s why we readers can believe a marriage of convenience is even a thing. I mean, in real life, this would be a disaster.”

Chris’s head cocked to the side. “You don’t think it could work in real life.”

With a huff, I set my cup down. “No. In real life, no one gets a happy ending.”

“That seems pretty cynical.”

“I’m not a cynic, I’m a realist.”

“You honestly think people can’t have happy endings?”

“Not really. Life is way too messy and unpredictable. No one can truly be happy always waiting for the next bad thing to happen.”

“Wow.” He rubbed his bottom lip, but I wasn’t distracted by his stupid opposable thumb this time. Not today, Satan. “That’s kind of sad.”

I shrugged. “It’s a fact of life. Like the sky is blue and cats are the best pets and… and… hair keeps growing after you die.”

“Well, actually…” he cut in.

“Seriously? Was there a Mortuary Sciences badge?”

He grinned. “Yes.”

“Liar.”

Silence fell as we both tucked back into our food. After a few minutes, I returned to the reason for our lunch.

“Since this is a romance, the whole marriage of convenience thing worked out for Elizabeth and Lord Hastings. He was accepted back into the peerage, she was protected from her father. They both found some new places on that ship to, you know, explore their relationship. I didn’t think it could get weirder than the plank, but…” I paused, eyeing Chris across the table. He was staring intently over my shoulder where a poster of a cat wearing glasses and reading Purr-ide and Prejudice hung. “Hello? You still here with me? You seem miles away.”

He blinked slowly. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, thinking about something.”

“So, they fell in love, our Elizabeth and Hastings. There for a moment, it didn’t seem like it would work out. But he managed to pull off a grand romantic gesture. They got back together. Lived happily ever after. The end.”

I finished off my sandwich and waited for him to comment. He did not. It was clear he was anywhere but in the room with me.

“You know, we don’t have to do this today if your mind is on other things.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, he began cleaning up his food, tossing napkins in the empty to-go box. “You don’t mind?”

“No.”

“Great.” He stood and tossed his garbage in the trash can. “Thanks for lunch. I have to go take care of something. I’ll see you later.”

Then in a very brotherly way, he gave me a pat on the shoulder and left.