Page 23 of Faking It with the Off-Limits Doctor

“Thanks.” I say, stepping into the small hallway.

She closes the door and then leads me further into the house. “It’s a far cry from your place, but it’s home for me.”

“I think it’s quite quaint,” I say, passing shelves filled with strange-looking teapots. When she sees me looking, she rolls her eyes.

“It’s a joke.”

“Well, they certainly look amusing,” I quip back.

She shakes her head. “No, I mean, it started off as a joke. The first time I went out to see my parents, I brought back a teapot. Mark told me I was going to end up as an old spinster who collected weird teapots, and so I nearly can’t help it when I see one. Every time he visits and discovers a different one, we laugh about it.”

“Huh,” I say, nodding and appreciating the close relationship they have. And in that second, that niggle returns to my mind.

Mark is not going to approve of this, and you know it.

“So,” she says, showing me into the kitchen, where there’s coffee brewing, “what is it you needed to discuss? Coffee?” she offers, before I get chance to answer her first question.

“Sure. Thanks.”

I actually don’t drink coffee after 6:00 p.m. It messes with my sleep pattern, and with my work, I need every minute of sleep I can get. But under the circumstances, I feel like I can’t refuse. Maybe it’s a pacification thing.

I remain on one side of the small island that stands in the kitchen, while she pours the coffee from a machine that sits on the far counter. She then turns and slides the round, blue mug across the island

“Milk? Sugar?”

I shake my head. “No. This is great. Thank you.”

Lifting her own mug, she takes a sip, and leaning on the island, she looks at me expectantly. “So?”

“Right,” I begin. “Well. I wanted to speak to you personally because what I want to ask you is a little unusual.”

“How unusual?” She frowns.

I’m not quite sure how to answer that, and for a minute, I don’t know what to say. I imagine it’s a pretty big deal, right? Especially the second thing I have in mind.

“Okay. It’s probably best if I just come out with it.”

“That would be great. I don’t want to die an old maid before I find out.”

I smile at her over my coffee cup, and after taking a sip, I say, “The first proposal is the easiest, so I’ll start with that. I want to offer you a full-time post.”

Her eyes widen, but I continue.

“I need a chef while I’m in Riverdale, and after last night’s performance, I can well and truly say you fit the bill.”

Her mouth is still open, when I say, “And the second proposal is on a different level.”

She’s frowning now, but her eyebrows dance a little, somewhere between astonished and confused.

As she takes a mouthful of coffee, I continue. “I also want to know if you’ll agree to be my fake fiancée?”

A second later, I take a swift step back as coffee flies out of her mouth and across the island.

10

Dara

The coffee goes everywhere, and as I cough and splutter, choking on the small dribbles that I inhaled in shock, Alex looks terrified.

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