Page 29 of (Not Really) Faking It With My Best Friend's Brother

"This was a terrible idea!" Susan gasped through her giggles.

"The worst," I agreed, struggling not to step on her feet again.

"Right foot, left foot, breathe," Susan coached.

"Easy for you to say," I retorted.

"Focus," she teased. Her breathless laughter made it difficult to concentrate on anything but her proximity.

Somehow, we crossed the finish line without falling, arriving in a respectable, if not graceful, third place. Untying our legs, I pulled Susan in for a spontaneous hug. Her body felt delicate yet strong pressed against mine.

"We made it," she cheered. But her eyes told me she was as moved by the moment as I was.

Our bubble burst as Tiffany headed our way. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you two, just like I promised. I might have to contact the Rivermint Cove gossip mill.”

“I saw your little love demonstration at the fundraiser yesterday, and I am pretty sure you did it just to throw me off your scent. I’m still not convinced that this is real.” She wagged her finger and pointed it back and forth between the two of us.

“I haven't seen affectionate kisses or anything to indicate a romantic relationship. And let's be honest, why would someone like Nate be engaged to someone like you, a nerdy librarian? When he could have someone like me."

Her words hung like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over our shared triumph. Susan stiffened, her eyes sparkling with a hurt that made my blood boil.

"The thing about romance, Tiffany," I said, stepping between the women, "is that it's not a spectator sport."

I turned back to look at Susan, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. I wanted to wipe away every drop of doubt Tiffany's words had rained upon Susan's fragile confidence. I took her hand, tangling our fingers together in comfortable intimacy.

"Romance," I murmured, "is the little things that make the everyday extraordinary. It's shared laughter, stolen glances, and synchronized steps in a ridiculous three-legged race. It's not about public displays to satisfy nosy spectators." I felt Susan's fingers squeeze mine, her slight smile blooming like a sunrise.

"Furthermore," my voice hardened as I turned back to Tiffany, "when you attempt to belittle Susan, you only succeed in broadcasting your own insecurities and diminishing yourself."

Tiffany stood, mouth agape, as if desperate to respond, but no words came. I took a step back toward Susan, our hands still entwined.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a photo booth to visit."

Without waiting for Tiffany's reaction, I led Susan away. The festival was alive with upbeat music and laughter, but all I could hear was Susan's quiet sigh of relief. It felt like a victory song, and my heart pounded in tune.

The photo booth was in a quiet corner, draped with fairy lights that twinkled like stars. The mild scent of sunflowers from a nearby stall perfumed the evening air as we slipped inside. There was a small stool for us to sit on, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at our comical attempts to fit in.

“Am I crushing you?” I asked, trying to shift my six-foot frame into the cramped quarters. My right knee rested awkwardly against the booth's wall while my left bumped Susan's.

“Just a little,” she replied, her voice shaky but laced with laughter. “But it’s okay.”

We ended up in fits of giggles, our bodies shaking as we tried to adjust ourselves for the camera. “Ready?" I pressed the button, and the machine whirred to life.

The first picture captured us mid-laugh. My head was thrown back in unbridled hilarity while Susan's hand was pressed against her mouth, her eyes sparkling with delight.

The second had me pulling a goofy face, my tongue sticking out while Susan showed off her crossed eyes.

But it was the third picture that held my heart captive. It was a moment without pretense or posing. It caught us as I placed a tender kiss on Susan's forehead. Her eyes closed, a soft blush dusted her cheeks, and a gentle smile played on her lips. The shutter clicked, sealing the image—and my fate—forever.

"Wow," Susan exhaled as we emerged. "That was... fun."

I couldn't help but agree. The picture strip was still warm, the images capturing moments that felt too intimate to share with anyone else.

“Now,” Susan began, fiddling with her vintage necklace, "I think there's a cotton candy stand over there calling our names."

The cotton candy stand was decked in pastel hues, a frothy pink cloud swirling on top of a giant cone stealing the show.

"You choose," I nudged Susan playfully, eyeing the colorful options. "Pink lemonade or blue raspberry?"

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