Page 31 of (Not Really) Faking It With My Best Friend's Brother

She turned to me, her eyes shining with triumph. "I won! Did you see that?"

“Congratulations, champ,” I replied as the vendor handed her the giant panda with a large red bow around its neck. Her smile could have outshone the glittering fairground lights.

The festival was winding down as the night grew darker. Susan held her prize as we walked towards the exit, feeling the cool air on our faces.

"You know," she began, nudging me with her shoulder, "I think you let me win."

"What?" I feigned shock, clutching my chest dramatically. "That's outrageous!"

"Right," she said, laughing. The great Nate Reynolds, losing at a water gun race? It's highly unlikely.”

Grinning, I shrugged, “Maybe I'm just not as good at shooting water guns as I thought. Or maybe...” I shifted closer, lowering my voice to a playful whisper, "I was distracted by the extremely cute opponent."

Her cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, and her eyes sparkled like two stars in the night. She was speechless for a moment, but then a smile slowly spread across her face.

"I guess that's a plausible explanation," she murmured.

"Maybe." I grinned, leaning in to kiss her cheek lightly. "Or maybe I did let you win."

She gasped, hitting my arm. "You did not!"

"I guess we'll never know," I teased, chuckling as she pouted at me.

"I can't believe you," she huffed, but I could see the twinkle in her eyes.

As we reached her car, she paused and looked up at me. The panda clutched to her chest like a trophy.

"I had fun tonight!" Her eyes held an intensity that stole my breath away.

"Me too," I admitted, my hand tracing gentle circles on her back. "We should do this more often."

“I'd love that."

With a final brush of my lips against her forehead, I whispered a tender goodnight. The carnival atmosphere had almost completely dissipated, replaced by the peaceful allure of the night.

As she climbed into her car, the scent of cotton candy and popcorn lingered in the air, mixing with the cool night breeze. I watched her taillights disappear, an unexpected emptiness flooding me.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I turned and walked to my car, anticipation already building within me for our next encounter.

Chapter thirteen

Susan

Itwirled around the living room, my feet bouncing joyfully on the plush cream-colored carpet. In my hand, I held a hairbrush, transformed into a makeshift microphone, as I absorbed myself in singing along to the quirky love song that blared from the stereo. “Ooh, strange how love can be,” I sang, letting each vibrant lyric tease out a secret about love that I was only now beginning to understand.

Baxter seemed as caught up in the moment as I was. He lay sprawled near the couch, his ears perking up as my voice filled the room. When I hit the chorus, he couldn't resist joining in. He threw back his head and howled along, his mournful sounds oddly complementing my melody.

As the song reached its playful back-and-forth, I couldn’t help but act out the parts. I called out in a melodramatic tone, “Oh darling, where are you?” Switching my voice to respond in a deeper tone, I continued, “Right here waiting, my dear.”

A giggle escaped me as I twirled a strand of hair around my finger, embodying the whimsical exchange of the lovers in the tune. "If you call and I don't hear, just sing our song, I'll come near." My laughter mingled with the lyrics as I spun around, my arms wide, embracing the silliness of my solo performance.

"And if I still don’t show?" I sang directly to Baxter, who watched me with a tilted head as though contemplating his role in this impromptu musical. "Then, sing it louder, my love!" My voice dipped into a playful challenge, and I blushed at my boldness.

As I belted out, “Nathaniel, oh Nathaniel, you're the one for me,” my heart swelled with the infectious rhythm and the lyrics that seemed to mirror my newfound feelings for Nate. Just then, as I reached the height of my theatrical crescendo, I spun around to face the kitchen.

There stood my mom, her eyes wide with amused surprise. She still wore her garden gloves, with bits of soil dusting her worn apron. She was a stark contrast to my dancing figure.

My song faltered, and my face turned crimson. “Mom! I thought you were in the garden,” I stammered, mortification flooding through me as the music continued to swell around my embarrassment.

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