The Fake Out: An utterly hilarious and totally heart-warming romantic comedy
The Fake Out: Chapter 42

Are your parents bakers? Because you’re a cutie pie.

—JULIA B.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into reading this.” I stared at the cover of our latest book club read, a serial romance called Checking Out the Librarian.

“Come on, you liked it.” Chris took a bite of his second double cheeseburger.

The weather had been especially nice today. So, we’d decided to pick up some takeout and I brought him to the little park just outside town, locally famous because it was home to the Legacy Tree, a Two Harts’ historical site.

“Did not,” I said out of stubbornness.

With a stern look, he pointed a French fry at me.

“Fine. It wasn’t that bad.”

“I knew it.” He grinned, his dimple making an appearance. “I like it when she yelled at him in the middle of the library. Scandalous. Yelling in the library.”

“If you want, I can yell at you at the library.”

“You yell at me enough as it is.” He balled up his napkin and tossed it on the table.

“I do not!”

“See?”

Glaring, I stood. “Are you done?”

“You sure are bossy.”

“It’s part of my charm.” Usually, I tried to tamp it down but lately even I’d noticed how I hadn’t bothered to censor my words around Chris. I was comfortable around him. It was yet another instance of him worming his way into my life. It was a problem.

We cleaned up and started down the well-worn trail until we reached the old oak tree in the heart of the park.

“So”—Chris pointed at the crown jewel of Two Harts—“this is it.”

“Yep.” The long arms of the oak tree twisted and bent. At some point, this tree was climbed by most every kid that came through Two Harts; it was a rite of passage. “This is the Legacy Tree. Most of us call it the Hart Tree.”

“I’m guessing because of all the hearts?” He was referring to the hundreds upon hundreds of hearts and initials carved into it. Another tradition.

“Yes and no. As the legend goes, Joseph and James Hart came from Georgia and settled here after they lost everything in the Civil War. They staked their claim on what is now most of downtown Two Harts. The brothers worked hard, and within ten years had built a decent little settlement. More families moved in. Then a general store, a church, a school, the essentials.

“Joseph, who was the oldest, decided he wanted to get married, have kids, carry on the family name and all that. So, he got himself a mail-order bride from back east. Emily made the journey here and when she was set to arrive, Joseph sent James to pick her up. The story is that Joseph and Emily were married right here in front of this very tree. See the big heart right there in the middle?”

“J plus E. That must be them.”

“Officially.” I walked closer to the tree. “Emily and Joseph were married, had three children, and by all accounts, lived a long, happy life.”

“But?”

“Sometime in the late 1940s, a Hart descendant found a journal that belonged to James Hart. In it, he detailed meeting Emily for the first time, falling in love almost at first sight. He claimed the feelings were returned but she was promised to his brother. He stepped aside. James never married. He stuck around, lived in a little house on the property by himself the rest of his life.”

“That sounds lonely,” Chris said, now standing beside me, both of us staring at that heart.

I traced the J and E with a fingertip. “And this carving? Emily passed on first, then Joseph. James lingered another ten years, and that’s when this was carved. Joseph couldn’t have done it. I think James spent his whole life loving Emily. Never seemed able to get over her.”

“What would you have done?” Chris asked. “If you were James?”

I answered immediately. “The same thing. Family comes first. As long as they’re okay, I’m okay.”

Chris tilted his head and inspected me like he was trying to figure out how my operating system worked. “But he lost out on a chance to have happiness.”

My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I let it go to voicemail. “You don’t know that. Maybe convincing Emily to run off with him would have been the worst mistake of his life.”

“You’ve got to be the most unromantic romance reader in the world.”

“I told you. Romance novels are not real life. Sure, they’re fun to read but they are fiction. Real people make choices, and they have to live with them. There’s family, hard work and, if we’re lucky, we’re content with what we have.”

He stepped closer and tucked a piece of flyaway hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering there. “I think you can replace happiness. I think you might even deserve happiness.”

A funny little twinge pinged in my chest.

“Oh, you sweet, naïve unicorn of a man. Happiness is never a guarantee. Was there some kind of Optimism badge you earned when you were twelve?”

My phone vibrated again. This time I pulled it out of my pocket and saw it was Ali. It was the second time in five minutes that she’d called. She was more a texter, but I sent it to voicemail again.

“Unicorn of a man?” He smirked. “That makes me pretty rare.”

“If you make even one joke about having a horn…”

For the third time, my phone vibrated. Ali again. This time, I answered.

“Thank God,” Ali said. “My phone is about to die.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“I’m in a bit of a bind.”

I sighed. “What did you do?”

“You can lecture me later. Right now, I need help.”

“Where are you?”

“Oh, hold on.” I was met with the sound of rustling and heavy breathing for a long moment. “That was close.”

“Ali.”

“Okay, fine. No yelling.”

“No promises.”

“I’m at City Hall.”

I pulled my phone from my ear to check the time. “It’s after seven p.m. Isn’t it closed?”

“I’ll explain later. Just come get me.”

“Where are you exactly?”

“That’s the thing…”

“Ali!” I repeated, but louder. “Spill it.”

“Fine. I’m hiding in the closet in Peter’s office.”

“What did you do?” My mind began racing with visions of ostriches, water balloons, and shaving cream.

“There’s another thing. Peter just came back to his office and—”

That’s when her phone died.