Page 36 of The Fake Out Flex

"By the flowers?"

"No. That you remember where the vase is stored."

He slides one hand into his pants pocket. "I have a knack for remembering random details."

"I'm tucking that little nugget away for trivia night."

He observes me with an amused warmth, then knocks on my desk. "I also remember you sitting here making your bracelets. Do you still do that?"

"Not really. I didn't have time in college. I took it back up after the breakup video went viral and I went into hiding, thinking it would relax me like it used to."

"Did it?"

"No. It doesn't seem to have the same effect anymore."

"Why?"

"No reason."

Big reasons. But I can't exactly tell him that it's his fault.

One, that would sound illogical.

Because two, it is illogical.

But three, that doesn't make it any less true.

After Fraser failed to acknowledge the bracelet I made him—and disappeared the very next day without saying goodbye—let's just say, it put me off bracelet making altogether.

In my head, it had become intertwined with his late-night drop-ins, and I was trying desperately to put that behind me. So I packed up all the beads, leather cording, clasps, jumping rings, and other bits and pieces I'd amassed and threw them all away.

"Hmm." He wanders over to the wall. "Remember that time you committed violence against me?"

"Excuse me?"

He spins around, a smile curling his lips. "You made me listen to punk music."

"That's right. I'd forgotten your taste in music is as poor as your tolerance for spicy food. Unless that's changed in the last seven years?"

"'Fraid not," he says. "You would still easily beat me in a chili eating contest."

"That's purely speculative." I place my hands on my hips. "There's only one way to find out if it's actually true."

"Ha. Not happening." He chuckles. "Are you ready to go?"

"I am. I just need to put on my shoes and find my purse."

Spotting my purse on the bed, he goes over to collect it. I slide on a heel but almost topple over as I put on the other one.

Fraser magically appears and extends his hand.

I take it gladly, slipping my fingers into his large palm to steady myself. "Thank you."

"You know…" He leans in, his voice getting low, almost husky. "I get that the dress has to stay, but it's not too late for the Ugg Boots."

I slap him away with a giggle. "I wish. No. I've officially banned myself from wearing them outside my apartment. I've also renamed them to ugh boots. Remember that, because if it catches on, I want all the credit."

He reaches out, lightly grazing my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "You're an intriguing woman, Evelyn Freeman."

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