The Fake Out: An utterly hilarious and totally heart-warming romantic comedy
The Fake Out: Chapter 5

Do you like raisins? How about a date?

—ADLIR A.

“Where were you last night?” I asked Iris on Wednesday morning as I brushed my teeth at the bathroom sink. Which she ignored when she barged in and announced she was taking a shower.

One day, I will live in a house with two bathrooms and no Iris.

She shrugged. “Out.”

It had been after midnight again before she’d slunk into the house. I know because I couldn’t sleep until I knew she was home.

“With who?”

“With whom.”

“What?”

“It’s ‘with whom’?” She flipped on the water and started to disrobe. The mirror began to steam up immediately.

“Are you correcting my grammar?”

Grinning, she hopped into the shower. Without her gothy makeup, she looked young and approachable. “I am getting an A in English, you know.”

“That’s great. More time to focus on passing math now. Have you gone in for tutoring? You can’t fail that class.”

“Sure thing,” she yelled over the water.

Right. Like I believed that.

“Don’t forget Mom has that appointment this afternoon,” I shouted, slathering on SPF moisturizer. Curse of the redhead—the pale, freckled skin of my people was prone to baking in the sun.

Her head appeared around the shower curtain. She saluted me. “Yes, ma’am. I’m on it. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“You don’t have to be so sarcastic about it,” I snapped and pulled my hair into a quick ponytail.

“Well, you don’t have to be so bitchy about it.”

I narrowed my eyes. Wisely, her head disappeared behind the shower curtain.

When I got to work, the mail was already waiting. To keep Mama from dealing with the stress, I’d had all the bills sent here so she wouldn’t see them. I cringed at the latest bill from Mama’s neurologist, the amount of which was enough to weigh my soul down.

Stomach twisting, I made a mental note to call and make payment arrangements. I already had similar arrangements with four other medical establishments. At this rate, I would be the only eighty-year-old woman working at Chicky’s. “Hold my dentures” didn’t seem like a great way to make tips either.

Last night, I’d laid in bed long after Iris got home and fretted over how I was going to make this all work. It was when I did my best planning. At night, when I should be sleeping. I liked plans. I liked to know what was going to happen or what I needed to do or how I was going to get there. And I didn’t like to veer from my plans. They were a lifeline to me. Without them, everything felt like chaos.

At the library, I booted up the computers and unlocked the door at 9:30 a.m. on the dot. There was no great rush of patrons but at eleven, the little ones started arriving with their parents in tow for story time.

“Mae-Mae.” A little girl of four with dark hair threw herself at my legs and hugged me.

“Lily, how are you, my friend?”

She seemed to contemplate her answer. “It’s been a good day so far. I got pancakes for breakfast.”

“Pancakes are the perfect way to start the day.” I directed her to the table where I’d laid out coloring pages and crayons. “Why don’t you go color? We’ll start story time soon.”

Her mom, Tonya, gave me a weary smile as she bounced a sleeping infant in the sling on her chest.

“How’s the little one?” I asked, gazing at the tiny six-week-old peeking out. My chest ached at the sight of the downy blond cap of hair and rosebud mouth. One of these days, I wanted one of those. I just wasn’t sure I wanted the man that I’d need to get one.

“I’m exhausted. So, so tired,” she said, looking on the edge of tears. She forced a smile. “I mean, it’s great.”

Or I could just watch babies from afar. Be the cool aunt. Did vampires reproduce? I’d have to ask Iris.

I escorted Tonya to the rocking chair I kept for just such visitors. She sat down with a sigh. At 11:30 on the dot, I clapped my hands and the kids raced to the magic reading carpet.

We started with a rousing rendition of “Wheels On The Bus” before moving on to “Five Little Speckled Frogs.” It was during the “Name Game Song” I noticed the new presence in the room: Chris Sterns.

I stumbled over little MacKenzie’s name when I saw him take a tiny kid-sized chair, plunk it behind the children and take a seat. He looked ridiculous, his knees practically touching his chin. I frowned; he grinned.

A few of the moms glanced over at him, probably attracted by the godlike pheromones he naturally secreted. Not that I had noticed. One gasped and slapped the woman next to her. Another ripped out the hair tie securing her messy bun, ran her fingers through her hair and rummaged through her purse to replace a tube of lipstick, all while bouncing a baby on her knee.

I cleared my throat and moved on to the final song in our repertoire, “Old MacDonald Had A Farm.” The kids wiggled with excitement as I pulled a small box from under my chair.

“Old MacDonald had a farm. E-I-E-I-O,” they sang cheerfully off-key. “And on that farm, he had a…”

They bounced with anticipation as I reached inside the box and brought out a puppet at random.

“CAT!” the kids screamed. “With a meow, meow here, and a meow, meow there…”

When we finished that verse, I tossed the puppet to a small boy with bright-red hair in the front row. He squeezed it to his chest like it was the best gift he’d ever received. His little face melted some of my bad mood.

The second verse started without pause except now a warm baritone joined in from the back. Chris grinned when I glanced his way, just as excited as the kids when the next puppet I drew was a horse. On the final verse, I tossed out the last animal to a little girl in the front row and situated myself to read our book.

“Where’s my aminal?” Lily said, her eyes welling with tears. “I didn’t get an aminal.”

“Oh, honey,” I said. “I’m so sorry. It looks like we ran out.”

She climbed to her feet. “But I didn’t get one.”

I knew we were about 2.4 seconds away from full-on meltdown.

“Do you want to help me turn the pages?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I want my mommy.”

But one look at her mother, Tonya, proved that might be tricky. She’d fallen asleep, mouth slightly open. And was that drool? Houston, we have a problem.

“You can sit with me,” Chris said. He scooted off the ridiculously tiny chair to the ground and patted the spot next to him. “I didn’t get an animal either. I’m kind of sad too.”

Lily, clearly under the Chris Sterns spell, promptly smiled and sat right next to him. By the end of story time, she was leaning on his knee and giggling like they were best friends.

This day had taken a strange turn.

After, several of the moms got photos with Chris and Tonya finally woke up. I was helping the last of the children check out their book selections when the library door was wrenched open.

Peter Stone stormed up to the circulation desk. “I need a word.”

Ignoring him, I leaned over to speak to Mariah, a tiny girl who’d just placed a stack of books on the counter. “I’m so sorry. This mean man jumped right in front of you, didn’t he?”

Mariah frowned. “Mommy says people who cut in line are rude and have to go to the timeout corner.”

Peter looked down at the girl. “Yes, well, I’m very busy. Do you mind if I step in front of you and speak to Mae?”

“I’m busy too. I gots to check out these books and then go home and eat lunch.” She patted her stack of books.

Biting back a smile, I glanced away, my eye catching on the man sitting over by the magazines. Chris Sterns had been in that very spot for over an hour, deeply engrossed in a paperback. But the real-life drama unfolding before us seemed to have caught his attention.

Peter cleared his throat. “Sometimes we have to make exceptions to rules, especially when important issues arise.”

Self-important jackass. Even when we dated, he’d always given the impression we should all be grateful to be in his presence. What had I been thinking? Two years wasted on him.

Mariah put a hand on her hip. “But I got library books. That’s the most importantest.”

Peter crouched down to her eye level. “Look. This is city business. I’ll only be a minute. You can be patient for a minute, right?”

She scowled.

I coughed to cover up a laugh. “What important city business did you need to take care of?”

“What is this?” He pulled a folded-up paper from his pocket and slammed it on the counter.

I didn’t need to pick it up to know what it was. “Due to recent budget cuts, I’m afraid I’ve had to call in all the outstanding fines.”

It should be noted that I forgave 99.9% of the fines. But Peter? He was the 0.01% who I planned to hold to the fire. Passive-aggressive? Yes. Then again, I was dealing with the pettiest man to walk this earth.

Also, I think Ali was rubbing off on me.

His eyes narrowed. “Really? Two hundred and thirty-seven dollars and twenty-five cents’ worth of library fines?”

I turned to the computer and pulled up his account. “It looks like you checked out a book thirteen years ago and haven’t returned it. At five cents a day, that adds up.”

“What book?”

“It says here it’s called The Dummy’s Guide to Manscaping. Does that sound familiar?”

“What’s manscaping?” Mariah asked, her expression puzzled.

I patted her head. “Ask your mommy later. Tell her you heard Mayor Stone talking about it.”

Splotchy patches of red overtook Peter’s face. “That is ridiculous.”

“The fine amount or the book title?”

He snatched the paper off the counter. “This whole situation. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“My job.” I crossed my arms and kept my voice steady. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“Don’t get too comfortable with your job.” He jabbed a finger in my direction, and I showed an amazing amount of restraint by not grabbing it and twisting. “Things are changing around this town. Just wait.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.” With that, he spun on his heels and sailed right out the door.

“My mommy really needs to talk to his mommy,” Mariah said.

“Seriously,” I muttered.

Later, after most of the kids cleared out, Chris ambled up to the front desk.

“The Dummy’s Guide to Manscaping?” he asked by way of greeting. “I’m impressed.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.” With a grin, he plopped a small bag from the local bookstore on the counter. “This is for you.”

I poked it with a pen. “Is something gonna bite me when I open it?”

“Are you always this mistrusting?”

“Yes.” I pulled the bag toward me and peeked inside. “I thought you were joking.”

“I never joke,” he said with a voice that indicated the exact opposite.

Warily, I pulled out the paperback from the bag. On the cover was a scantily clad woman in the arms of an even more scantily clad man. A pirate specifically. The title emblazed across the front read The Pirate’s Booty.

Hastily, I flipped the book over to hide the cover. “Um… I don’t know what to say.”

“The reviews are good. I’ve already read the first two chapters, so you better catch up.”

With a deep breath, I pushed the book toward him. “No.”

His brow creased in confusion. Maybe he wasn’t used to not getting his way.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to have to pass.”

With that, I turned away and began typing aimless questions into the search bar on my computer—Do bearcats really smell like popcorn? (yes), Is Die Hard a Christmas movie? (no), How tall is Chris Sterns? (6’5”, holy freaking cow) while I waited for him to take the hint.

He did not take the hint. “Come on, think about it. It could be fun.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why in the world would you want to start a book club…” I leaned closer to whisper. “A romance book club, no less, with a person you hardly know?”

A frown tugged at his mouth. “Well, I like to read, and I like you.”

“You don’t even know me.” I rolled my eyes. “I could have the bodies of the last three people who asked me to be in a book club buried in my backyard.”

One side of his mouth kicked up in amusement. “Do you?”

“Would I tell you if I did? No, because we are not friends. Especially not friends who share where the bodies are buried.”

“Aren’t you the librarian of this fine establishment?”

Glaring, I crossed my arms.

“And isn’t the primary goal of a librarian to encourage literacy?”

I huffed in reply.

“And,” he continued with conviction, “wouldn’t a book club do exactly that? You’d be encouraging me to read. You’d be expanding my mind.”

“You are full of crap,” I said.

A grin slid across his face. “Fine. The real reason? You haven’t cared at all about who I am. It’s kind of nice. You remind me of my sisters.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “You read romance novels with your sisters?”

“They read them. I never have. But it seems like a good way to get to know a new friend.”

“A new friend?” I had no time for new friends. Ali was about all I could handle after Iris and Mama.

“I’m an excellent friend to have. Would you like references?” He pulled his phone out and started scrolling through his phone book. “Here’s Sherrod. Great guy. He’s on the team with me. I could call him. Or Phillip Monaghan. Been one of my best friends since fourth grade when he dared me to lick a slug and I did it. I’ve helped him out the last two times he moved. I’m the kind of friend who helps you move. There aren’t many of us.”

“Okay, I get it.” I nibbled my bottom lip and looked down at the book. The sexy pirate romance book. Then I studied his face. With the shaggy hair and the hopeful, determined smile, he had an almost boyish quality. A very stubborn, irritating boyish quality.

“You aren’t going to leave me alone until I agree to this, are you?”

He rocked back on his heels. “Nope.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

“Excellent.” He held his hand out to shake on it. I slid my palm across his and something terrible happened. A tingle started at my fingertips and went right up my arm. Like a jolt. I pulled my hand back and stared at it.

If he’d felt it, he didn’t react at all. “I’m glad you came around to my way of thinking.”

“I have a rule,” I said quickly.

“Go ahead.”

I cleared my throat. “No one needs to know about this book club, okay?”

Most people knew me as practical, no-nonsense Mae Sampson. I suspected they all saw me as a “serious” fiction reader, not wasting my time daydreaming about sexy pirates on the open seas. But I did.

Still, I kept it a secret from everyone, almost embarrassed by my love of romance. It wasn’t the kissing (and the other, ahem, stuff) that drew me to a good romance. It was that romances were, in the end, about hope. Even when it seemed impossible. Despite having seen love destroy my mom bit by bit, I guess I still believed in that hope.

“Understood,” he said solemnly, but the corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. He turned to leave but when he got to the door, he snapped his fingers and jogged back. “So, can I have your number?”

“Was that a pickup line?” My eyebrow arched. “I expected better from God’s gift to women.”

He preened. “I think dreamboat is more appropriate, don’t you?”

“I’m guessing you did not get the Humbleness badge.”

He laughed. “And that was not a pickup line. You’ll know when it’s a pickup line. Give me your phone.”

Against my better judgement, I tugged my phone from my back pocket, unlocked it and handed it over. With a wicked little grin, he began typing.

“This is my number. I texted myself. If we’re going to be book club friends, we have to be able to talk about the book, right?” He handed the phone back. “Now, get reading. You’re already behind.”