Page 15 of Out on a Limb

Tess sucks in a long breath, and I hit her with my widest, most pleading smile.

Please trust me on this.

Please let me make this mistake.

Please don’t make me face reality just yet.

“This is… Jana, this is…” Tess gives up and shakes her head, tossing the cloth down on the bar. “There’s so much that could go wrong here. I’m seriously worried about you.”

“Don’t be.”

Because how can I explain that the biggest risk in this whole caper is getting my heart broken? After only a few days of living in the cabin with Stig Hansen, it’s clear: the real jeopardy I’m in is the risk of my crush blooming into proper feelings. Feelings he might not return.

If I love Stig Hansen by the end of the month, there’s no way I can marry him. Not if it’s fake. Then I’ll be homeless again, and heartbroken to boot.

But that’s a whole other level of nonsense, and Tess isn’t ready to hear it. I can tell by the way she keeps tightening her ponytail, yanking roughly like she wants to tear her hair out at how crazy I’m being.

Another time, then.

“I want to meet him,” Tess says after serving another round of drinks with jerky, agitated movements. I’ve never seen my chilled-out friend wound so tight, and it’s strangely moving. Who knew she cared this much about little old me? “This Stig guy. I want to make sure he’s on the level.”

And I swear to god: it’s like her words conjure him, because before Tess has even finished her sentence, a familiar dark blond head ducks through the bar doorway. He scans the room and finds me quickly, hitting me with a crooked smile.

My whole body flushes hot. Tingles race over my skin beneath my clothes, and I grip the edge of the bar to keep myself from swaying.

“You can meet him,” I say faintly. “You can meet him right now.”

Stig Hansen has entered the building.

Nine

Stig

In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t appreciate a complete stranger putting me under the microscope. I’ve always had a chip on my shoulder about that, ever since I was young; even as a teenager, I rankled when town busybodies told me to cut my hair different or tuck in my shirt or stop slouching on my walk to school. I always figured: what business is it of theirs?

Now I’m a grown man, but it still pushes my buttons sometimes when virtual strangers want to weigh in on my life. The comment sections beneath the adventure videos I put online—those are no-go areas for me, for the sake of my sanity.

What’s that saying about opinions? They’re like assholes—every fucker’s got one. And I don’t write articles and make films and take photographs of my adventures to please other people’s taste. If they want everything they watch to suit them exactly, they better make it themselves.

Tonight, though, when Jana’s friend Tess starts grilling me about our little arrangement, trying to figure out my intentions, I’m on my best behavior. Answering every question; smiling wide and turning on the charm.

It’s not fake. Don’t have it in me to be fake, our ‘engagement’ aside.

But I can sense the nervous energy rolling off Jana in waves, and that tells me this conversation is important. That Tess is important.

So I’d better make a good first impression.

“What exactly do you expect from your ‘wife’, Stig?” Tess makes air-quotes around the word, her forehead pinched in a frown. Beside her, Jana flushes and starts wiping down a random spot on the bar.

It’s hot and loud in here, with signed guitars and other rock memorabilia on the walls. Seems like a cool place, not that I have much chance to inspect it while this Tess person is pinning me with her glare.

I shrug and smile. “Nothing that Jana doesn’t truly want to give me.”

It’s a somewhat evasive answer, but it’s the truest one I can offer: on the one hand, I’d never demand anything that made Jana uncomfortable. On the other hand, if my prickly little fiance ever jumped my bones, I’d die a happy man.

Tess’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t like me talking in circles.

“And why do you need a wife?” She drums her short fingernails on the bar top.

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