Page 88 of Marrying Off My Husband

Or incessantly knocking at her door only to spot her returning home, fresh from a date.

I swallowed hard, facing the real possibility that either of these scenes may be exactly what I’d find.

What worried me more was the ache in my heart over that fact. I wasn’t indifferent. I wasn’t unfazed. Instead, sweat beaded on my brow and my chest constricted as I considered facing the reality that Eve had zero interest in me.

“She doesn’t have an interest, stupid. She’s your fake girlfriend.” I huffed out a sharp breath as I tried to repeat the mantra to myself over and over so I could lessen my inevitable heartbreak.

With a deep inhale, I slid all the parsley into the pot. I still had to play my part as the doting, albeit fake, boyfriend. And I wanted to make the soup the way I normally did. Louise had liked it, maybe Eve would, too.

Louise’s heels clicked across the floor as I stirred the pot again. She planted a kiss on my cheek, careful to wipe away any of that red lipstick she loved so much. “Good luck, darlin’. But you don’t need it. I bet she’ll be so happy you’re doing this for her.”

I wasn’t so sure about that, but I forced a nervous smile. “I hope she likes it. Hey, good luck on your date, too.”

“Thanks. But I don’t need it. If this one’s meant to be, we’ll know it.” She winked at me before she spun on a spiked heel and headed for the door.

I blew out a shaky breath, shocked by her confidence. How could she justknow?

I didn’t know a darn thing. I realized I had feelings for Eve, enough to be afraid of them, but I didn’tknowEve was the one for me. Probably because I was fairly certain she wasn’t.

Eve was too sweet and beautiful of a woman to want to be saddled with me. Though many women were enamored with the size of my bank account, Eve didn’t seem to care.

Her reminder in Savannah about our fake relationship still haunted me.

After another check of the soup, I covered it with a lid to let it simmer a little longer as I doffed my apron and hurried upstairs to change.

With my lips tugged into a wince, I stood in my closet, eyeing all the clothes and feeling a sudden kinship with Louise for every time she’d uttered the words, “I have nothing to wear.”

Lou had told me to make the soup and take it to Eve. She hadn’t told me what to wear. Was I supposed to look nice or comfortable?

Did it matter? Was I supposed to just drop the soup and run or stay?

I ran a trembling hand through my hair as I second guessed everything about what I was about to do.

With a sigh, I decided it didn’t matter. “Eve’s not going to break up with you. She can’t. Not until Louise finds love. So…it doesn’t matter what you wear.”

I decided on comfortable, slipping into track pants, a t-shirt, and a hoodie. With my wardrobe selected, for better or worse, I hurried downstairs and gave a final taste test to my soup beforeI secured the lid on the pot, grabbed a bag of crackers and a pint of ice cream, and loaded everything into my car.

A few minutes later, I arrived at Eve’s apartment. With potholder-clad hands, I carefully carried the pot and bag of goodies to her door.

Carefully, I balanced the still hot pot against me, wincing a little as I banged on the door, my heart in my throat.

I waited for a few moments, convincing myself that she wasn’t answering the door because she wasn’t home until the door popped open.

A red-nosed, open-mouthed Eve stood in a fluffy pink bathrobe, her hair tugged into a messy top knot. Even though she very clearly was sick, I couldn’t help but think she looked cute.

Her features twisted with confusion as she stared up at me. “Spencer?”

“Eve, hi. I’m…I…sorry to show up like this, but I made you some soup.”

Her gaze shifted to the pot in my arms.

“It’s still hot, but I could put it on the stove to warm up a little,” I offered, feeling as awkward as my voice sounded.

“Oh, uh, sure.” She stepped aside and motioned for me to enter the apartment.

I sidestepped past her and headed for her kitchen, setting the pot on the burner and the bag on the counter. After turning the heat on low, I lifted the pint of ice cream from the bag. “I brought this, too. I thought maybe it could help if you have a sore throat.”

Her features finally melted from confused to appreciative. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

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