Best Fake Fiancé: A Single Dad Romance (Loveless Brothers Romance Book 2)
Best Fake Fiancé: Chapter 2

IT’S BEEN NINETY MINUTES. Still no text.

I snap my goggles back onto my face, make sure that my hair’s all properly secured, and turn the lathe on again, the low hum filling the air around me. I lower the chisel until it’s biting into the spinning wood, a gap widening.

I let up on the chisel, do it again on another point, slide it down the length of the wood as it spins, cutting the square piece round. This is the ninth baluster that I’ve turned today, so by now I’m doing it on autopilot.

He can’t possibly still be in court. It’s been an hour and a half.

I frown at the wood as it takes shape: a lump here, an elongated lump in the middle, tapering off toward the top and bottom. Another bump. A line.

Usually, I revel in this sort of thing. I like turning a lump of wood into art, coaxing a form out of nothing. I like using my hands and creating something I can hold, touch, feel. It’s why I like my job.

Except today I can’t focus on it to save my life. I’m a bundle of nerves, my mind everywhere but in front of me.

He forgot to turn his phone back on, I tell myself. He was out of there in twenty minutes, everything is fine, he just forgot.

I narrow the taper at one end, careful not to press too hard. I’ve already had to scrap one of these today.

Right. When was the last time Daniel forgot something?

I can’t even think of it. I know he’s not perfect. He must forget things all the time, but compared to me — someone who routinely goes to warm up a forgotten cup of coffee, only to discover yesterday’s forgotten coffee already in the microwave — he seems like a machine.

I shake my head to focus on the task at hand, particularly since it involves sharp objects, dangerous machinery, and expensive stuff.

The balusters are for a staircase on a yacht; balusters are the spindle-things that hold up the handrail, a term I didn’t learn until the second year of my carpentry program. I learned that some yachts have staircases last Friday, when I discovered that I’d be hand-making the parts for one.

I have no idea whose yacht it is. I have no idea where on earth this yacht even is, since Sprucevale is in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains, several hours inland, and I strongly doubt the river is deep enough for a boat that big. There are some lakes around, but they don’t seem like yacht lakes.

They seem much more like fishing-from-a-rundown-motorboat-with-a-case-of-beer-in-a-styrofoam-cooler lakes, but I’m not a lake expert.

I examine the baluster carefully, then flip the lathe off. The whine dies down, and I take the wood off of it, putting it down next to the first eight that I made.

Then I frown.

“Dammit,” I hiss out loud, just to myself. The lathe is in one corner of the Mountain Woodworks building, which is big and open-plan and constantly noisy, because someone’s always running a power saw.

These don’t match. I fucked up. The big lump tapers the wrong way, because I was worrying about whether Daniel was still in court and wasn’t paying attention. You’d think that after making eight of the exact same thing, I could have another thought for one second without screwing up, but apparently not.

I grab the bad baluster, put it on a work bench, and take another square length of red cedar. I pencil the markings on it — cut here, here, here, and here — then load it onto the lathe and throw the switch, irritated with myself.

I haven’t gotten any further than the first slice when in the corner of my vision, my phone lights up. I grab it instantly, chisel on the table, shoving my goggles onto my head.

Daniel: I need to talk to you.

Me: What happened?

Daniel: I’m coming by.

Me: It’s almost lunch time, can we meet somewhere?

No response. I fidget with my phone, shove my other hand in the pocket of my coveralls, start fiddling with a wood chip there. Nothing. He’s not even typing.

Me: What happened?!?

Me: Just tell me, I hate surprises. Come on.

Still nothing.

Me: Please??????

Daniel doesn’t respond, no matter how hard I stare at the phone. I bite my lip, watching my screen, a thousand bad possibilities flickering through my mind.

Behind me, the whine of the lathe stops. I whirl around.

William, my boss, is standing there.

“Best not to leave that running,” he says, solemnly. “Could catch something on it by accident and that’d get ugly.”

I swallow hard, my face flushing red. I shove my phone back into the pocket of my coveralls.

“Sorry,” I say, biting back my best friend just had a court hearing about his daughter, and I think something went bad and he won’t tell me what and my mind wasn’t really on carpentry, but that’s way too much information.

Besides, I just left machinery going while I looked at my phone. I don’t need to seem even less professional, and God knows I’m aware of what can happen when you forget something is on.

“Just be careful,” he says mildly. “How are these going?”

William is middle-aged, serious, looks like he’s spent a lot of time outdoors, and is a man of very few words. I was convinced that he was always angry with me until I figured that out.

“They’re going well,” I say, omitting the fact that I’ve ruined two. “This is my last one, and then I’ve got to start on the bannister itself…”

We talk shop for a moment. If William’s mad that I left the lathe running or upset that I’ve used two more lengths of red cedar than necessary, nothing about his manner gives it away. We go over some plans. We go over some drawings. We go over a grainy photograph that the client gave him, showing the exact bannister that he wants to imitate.

I’m only half paying attention.

“That’s the best photo we could get out of him,” William is saying, his drawl low and slow.

As he’s talking, the door at the far end of the workshop opens.

A Daniel-shaped being enters, silhouetted by the bright sunlight outside. My heart leaps and then falls, the silhouette putting its hands into its pockets, standing just inside the door.

He wouldn’t be here if something bad hadn’t happened.

“Seems that his ancestors came over from England as guests of the crown in seventeen-something,” William is still saying. “Now he’s trying to outfit his yacht with the same details that their ship had.”

I glance up at Daniel. He’s still standing by the door, clearly waiting. My heart shakes in my chest.

“Minus the scurvy, I imagine,” I say without thinking, looking back at the photo, my mind utterly elsewhere.

William says nothing.

I silently scold myself for making dumb jokes to my boss.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says, nodding once. I nod back, and William walks off to another portion of our massive workshop.

I count to ten, then put the photo down.

“I’m going to lunch, I’ll be back in an hour,” I announce to absolutely no one in particular, and then I practically run toward the door where Daniel is standing.

“What happened?” I practically shout when I’m within ten feet of him.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing the door to the outside open again and holding it for me. I step through into the sunlight, blinking, and whirl on him.

“I need a big favor,” he says, the moment we’re outside, his voice low and serious.

My heart’s in my throat.

“Sure, anything,” I say instantly.

He pauses, his hands back in his pockets, his jacket open, and he studies my face for a long moment, looking more serious than I’ve seen him look in ages.

Finally, he looks away for a moment, pushes his hand through his slightly-floppy hair, then looks at me again. Daniel’s got some of the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, deep and clear, and they’re dead fixed on me.

He’s also wearing a suit. He never wears a suit, which is a shame, because the man looks good in a suit, which feels inappropriate to notice right now.

“It’s gonna sound weird,” he says, his voice still low.

“What happened?” I ask for the thousandth time. “Look, whatever it is, I don’t care, I’ll do it.”

“I need you to come to the next hearing and say we’re engaged,” he says.

It catches me off-guard.

I thought he’d need me to give Rusty a ride to summer camp next month, or put sugar in Crystal’s gas tank, or secretly shadow her to prove that she’s having weekly meetings with Satan. Something like that.

“To each other?” I ask, after a moment.

“Right.”

“At a hearing?” I say, still thrown for a loop.

“I fucked up,” he says, folding his arms over himself. “And I may have told the judge I was getting married. To you.”

“Okay,” I say, my stomach suddenly in knots. “Yeah, sure, just let me know when it is, I’ll take off work and come… lie to a judge, I guess?”

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, exhales and straightens, like there’s a weight off his shoulders.

Then he grabs me and pulls me in for a rough hug.

“Thank you,” he says into my hair, which is currently piled in a knot on top of my head. “Jesus, Charlie, you’re a lifesaver.”

I hug him back, my arms around his tall, rugged form, not that I notice how tall or rugged he is.

Nor do I grab him one percent tighter than I probably should. I sure don’t think about the muscles underneath his clothes, or the fact that I’ve seen him hoist full five-gallon buckets overhead like they weighed nothing.

Most of the time I’m used to the extreme attractiveness of my tall, rugged, very handsome best friend. It’s just one of those things: the sky is blue, grass is green, Daniel is hot, et cetera. I’m over it.

The suit, though. Hello. It’s jarring enough that I’ve been jolted into noticing the rest of the hotness all over again.

It’s a long hug, not that I mind. I’m probably getting sawdust all over him, though.

“Did you just volunteer this?” I ask when he releases me. “Or was there a specific question, or…?”

For the first time since I’ve seen him today, he smiles.

“Want to get lunch?” he asks.

“HOLY SHIT,” I say. “Does Rusty know her mom got married?”

Daniel shrugs dramatically, still chewing a bite of his turkey club.

Crystal might be Rusty’s mom, but she’s not Daniel’s ex. She’s someone that Daniel got blind drunk and had sex with a few times when he was twenty-one, dumb, and going through a rough time.

He likes to make that distinction very, very clear.

“Does her husband have cloven hooves?” I ask, gesturing with my own sandwich. “Did you see an ultrasound? Does the baby have horns?”

“He’s a mining executive,” Daniel says, swallowing.

“So I’m not that far off.”

Daniel snorts, taking another bite.

“How the hell did she meet him?” I ask. “Did he seem hypnotized? Maybe under some sort of mind-control drug?”

“I don’t think Rusty knows,” he finally says, answering my first question. “She’d have told me if she did, she can’t keep secrets.”

“True,” I say.

It’s not exactly true. She probably couldn’t keep a big secret like that, but just last week I hung out with her one afternoon and we got ice cream sundaes before dinner. I’m pretty sure she kept the secret, because I never heard about this horrible breach of protocol from Daniel, and I usually do.

Also, last winter I took her sledding at Suicide Hill, the steepest sledding spot in town, and never heard about it from Daniel, even though he did specifically say we shouldn’t go there.

He can be a little overprotective. The kid had a blast.

Daniel finishes his sandwich, sighs, and leans back in his chair. He took the tie and jacket off, so now he’s just wearing a white button-down shirt, both sleeves rolled up, the top two buttons undone.

It’s an even better look, or at least it would be if I were noticing how Daniel looks, which I’m not.

The man does shine up like a new penny, though.

“Anyway, that’s why I panicked,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “I know I shouldn’t have, but they were going on about gated communities and private schools and raising her with her sister, and shit, Charlie, I’ve got none of that.”

I lean in, push my empty plate out of the way.

“Yeah, but none of that shit can make Crystal a good parent,” I say, keeping my voice low.

“Tell that to the court.”

“You want me to?” I ask, taking a sip of water. “Want me to go in there and tell everyone exactly what I think?”

He rubs his hands over his face, laughing.

“Please don’t,” he says. “As much as I’d love to see her reaction, I don’t need my fake fiancée reprimanded by a judge.”

I just shrug, smiling into my water glass.

“You sure that’s all you need?” I ask. “Should we mockup save-the-dates or a registry or something?”

For a split second, I wonder what we would put on our registry, what our invitations would look like if we really were engaged. It’s not the worst thought.

“I think that’s overkill,” he says. “Besides, how do we explain if someone replaces it?”

“True,” I concede.

“It’s probably smartest to keep a lie simple,” he says. “I’ll replace you a fake ring, you’ll show up for a single court date, and—”

He cuts off mid-sentence as someone steps up to our table, and we both turn.

“I am so sorry to interrupt y’all,” Shirley Crest says.

She settles one be-ringed hand on each of our shoulders, like she’s about to lead us in prayer. Daniel and I trade a quick glance, then look back at her.

“But I just heard your good news from Mavis and then I saw you sitting over here, and I knew it was a sign,” she goes on. “I am so happy for y’all, and I just know you’ve got years of love and happiness ahead of you.”

Shirley smiles, her frosted hair swaying ever-so-slightly on top of her head. I stare at her with my mouth open, literally speechless.

There’s a brief pause. Daniel collects himself first.

“Thank you, Shirley,” Daniel says, covering her hand with his.

“You two were always so sweet together,” she says. “Not to mention that now Karen Rogers owes me fifty dollars. Blessings!”

Then she waves, turns, and she’s off.

My mouth is still open. I close it, jerking one thumb after Shirley’s retreating form.

“Daniel,” I hiss.

His face has turned to stone, and he’s still looking after Shirley, like he can undo the last thirty seconds with the force of his mind.

“Daniel, who was in that courtroom?” I ask, my voice low and deadly serious. “You, Lucinda, Crystal, her people, the judge? Who else?”

He presses his lips together and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. Then he takes a deep breath, sighs, rubs one temple like he’s just remembered something.

“The bailiff,” he says.

I just wait.

“Pete Bresley.”

I put my face in my hands, my BLT now rolling in my stomach. I’m slightly nauseous. I force myself to take a deep breath, my mind going a thousand miles a minute.

“You told the town gossip’s gossipy-ass son that you and I are engaged?” I ask. I’m trying my best to keep my voice low and steady, but it’s definitely not working.

“Maybe it won’t get out,” he says. “Plenty of people get married in Sprucevale, there’s no—”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out while he’s still talking.

It’s my mother. I show Daniel the screen. He stops talking. I put the phone down on the table very gingerly, then softly tap the decline call button, like being gentle will help.

“She’s calling to ask why I didn’t tell her first,” I say, and look frantically at Daniel.

He leans forward, blue eyes blazing, forearms on the table.

“Tell her,” he says, his voice low, steady. “That we were keeping it a secret, but the judge asked me a direct question, so I couldn’t—”

“You want me to tell my mother that we’re engaged?” I whisper-shout.

He says nothing, just looks at me steadily.

“No,” I say, holding up both hands like I can ward him off. “What? No.”

“It’s not that—”

“It’s a huge deal!” I hiss, as my phone rings again. It’s Mom. I decline the call. “This is fucking insane, Daniel, I can’t—”

I swallow hard, force my voice lower.

“I can’t tell everyone I know we’re engaged,” I say.

He swallows again. His fists clench, then relax.

“Look, I’ll lie to a judge,” I say. My voice is shaking. “Fine. Sure. But I can’t lie to everyone I know, Daniel. I’m not that good of an actress, they’re going to figure it out, they’re not going to believe us, they’re—”

My phone rings for a third time.

“Fucking fuck shit goddamn it—”

I clear my throat and pick it up.

“Hi, Mom,” I say. “Right now’s not really a good—’

“MAVIS BRESLEY!” my mother exclaims, right in my ear.

I jerk the receiver away, my heart already sinking, and glare at Daniel.

“I just had to replace out from MAVIS BRESLEY that you’re engaged to Daniel Loveless, you couldn’t even tell your own mother? I didn’t even know the two of you were dating, you didn’t say one single word about it and then I hear from MAVIS that you’re engaged and getting married and—”

She takes a breath. I already feel like dirt, even though for once, the disaster isn’t my fault.

“Mom,” I say quickly, squeezing my eyes shut, the back of one fist to my forehead. “Listen, Mom, I know this seems sudden but it’s actually not a good—”

“We’re so happy for you,” she interrupts.

I freeze, a lump suddenly forming in my throat. I clear it away.

“Thanks, but it’s kind of a complicated situation,” I say, my eyes still closed.

You see, I’m going to kill Daniel, I think.

“There’s been a mis—’

The phone is lifted from my hand, and before I can react Daniel’s leaning back in his chair, the phone held to his ear.

“Hi, Mrs. McManus,” he says, smoothly.

I grab for my phone as subtly as possible, trying not to make a scene in this cafe. I’m pretty sure it’s not working.

“Can Charlotte call you back in a minute?” he asks, his eyes boring into mine. “Today didn’t quite go as planned and we’re still ironing out a few details.”

I make another lunge, but Daniel just grabs my wrist and lowers it to the table. God, he’s got strong hands, and he covers mine with his and puts them both on the table, next to our empty plates.

“Of course,” he says, into the phone. “And, Mrs. McManus, I’m so sorry about this. It’s not at all what we intended.”

I kick him under the table, though not too hard. He frowns at me.

“She’ll call you back in a few,” he finally says. “Thank you.”

At last, he hangs up my phone, puts it on the table, and just looks at me. He hasn’t let go of my hand. I haven’t tried to wrest it back, even though my heart is threatening to burst out of my chest.

“Two months,” he says.

“Insane,” I tell him.

“The case will be over in two months, maybe less,” he says. “Then it’ll all be over, and we’ll tell people we’re breaking up—”

“You. Are. Crazy,” I whisper. “Everyone will know that this is some bonkers story, no one is going to believe us—’

“Shirley believed us,” he says.

I stop short, blood rushing through my ears.

Then I shake my head.

“I can’t lie to everyone I know!” I say, quieter this time. “I can’t lie to my mom, and my sister, and all my friends. You sure as shit can’t lie to your brothers.”

“Charlie,” he whispers. “Please. I’m fucked. If they replace out that I lied they’re going to take her to Denver, and… I can’t.”

“Remember when Eli thought that no one knew he was banging Violet?” I ask.

“This is different.”

“It’s not,” I say, but my voice is suddenly unsteady. “I’m a bad liar. You’re a bad liar. Everyone will know and it will only make it worse.”

He gives me a desperate, pleading look that stabs me straight to my core.

I take a deep breath and stand my ground anyway. I know, deep in my heart, that this is way too crazy to work.

“Doubling down on some crazy lie isn’t how you fix things,” I say. “Look, just — tell people we broke up, or tell people that there was a misunderstanding, or tell people you got flustered and confused, I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” he says, his hand still on mine. He squeezes a little tighter. My chest constricts to match it, and I ignore it.

Then he gives me a look that nearly stops my heart.

It’s raw. Searing. Searching. Pleading. I feel like I can see straight through to the bottom of his soul right now, and I falter.

“Please?” he asks, his voice low, private.

I hesitate for the first time, my hand in his. I hold my breath.

I want to say yes. I do. I know that if he loses Rusty, it’ll destroy him, and I’d do anything to keep that from happening.

And I don’t hate the idea. We’ve been best friends since we were eleven. Daniel knows me better than anyone. I’m friends with his brothers. I’m his kid’s cool aunt.

Except that this won’t work. I know it won’t work, because it’s crazy. Somewhere, deep down, Daniel must know it too, that doubling down on a lie isn’t the way to solve his problems. Just because Shirley believed a rumor doesn’t mean anyone else will. It doesn’t even mean she’ll still believe it next week.

“I can’t,” I say. “It’s not gonna work, Daniel. Just go back and tell the truth, it’ll be fine.”

I pull my hand back. I stand. I feel like everyone else in The Earl of Sandwich is looking at us, and I ignore them as I walk out the door, leaving Daniel behind me, sitting at the table.