Page 33 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

I’d be stupid to ever forget that.

Charlie pulls away a few beats later, wiping her tears and avoiding my gaze. I try to brush away the storm in my chest. Ignore the urge to pull her back to me and promise to fix everything.

If this is going to work, I’m going to have to suppress all of my inhibitions. I was wrong about my old self dying.

There’s always going to be a stump in my heart that grows stems and leaves the moment Charlie is around.

“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” I start.

Charlie finally looks up at me, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “You didn’t do anything. None of this is your fault.”

“You came to tell me about the marriage,” I say, taking a step closer. “I should’ve known you were going through something horrible for you to do something like that. Instead, I…” I take a deep breath. “I should’ve acted better. I had no idea your dad is sick. I’m sorry.”

It’s the truth. Charlie’s dad was rarely around, but I knew that he was her favorite parent. Not being able to help with his treatment must be killing her.

Charlie stares at me. She’s waiting for my next words, words we both know will define the next few months of our lives.

I pause for a second. As much as I want to help her, I know what this means. I know how careful I’m going to have to be. It’s important we’re on the same page.

“Move in with me.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Long enough till we get the papers for your loan. I’m ready to loan you some money upfront, for your businessand your dad. You can pay me back with what you get from the bank and pay them off with your profit. You’ll have your life together in a couple of months, and you can move out again.”

I inhale deeply. The last part of my statement is the most important. I take a step further, focusing my mind on the fact that all I want to do is help Charlie find her feet.Onlythat. She’s lost so much in life already, and I owe this to her as my old friend.

“We’ll sleep in different bedrooms. I won’t touch you, I promise.”

She lets out a sound between a sigh and a moan. I swipe the thought away of how much throatier she’d be if I was buried deep inside her right now.

“Even if I change my mind?” Her voice is low, almost anxious. There’s an unreadable expression in her eyes. Fear? Worry?

Does she want that caveat to be removed?

I force myself not to dig deeper. “Even then.” I’m hammering a nail into my own skull saying those words, but I know that’s the right thing to do. And not just because it’s the best thing for Charlie’s business.

It’s the best thing for me, too.

Because I don’t think I could survive Charlie Chapman ripping out my heart for a second time.

TEN

WALKING A TIGHTROPE (CHARLIE)

“Have you ever seen this place so…alive?”

I look out over the restaurant, a sense of pride brimming in me. For the first time in a while, there’re more than ten people seated in front of the counter. The kitchen is buzzing with activity: knives chopping, oil sizzling, food being plated. The sounds and the sight almost bring tears to my eyes.

“Looks like the reviews did their magic,” Haley chirps. She’s standing behind me by the counter as we listen to the low thrum of voices around us. “Also helps that we hired a competent chef.”

Yes,I think. Yes to all of that.

It has been three weeks since I moved in with Ken, and a lot has changed since then. He wired me money that same night, and I’d gotten to work right away. First order of business was to hire a chef. With Ken’s generous loan, I was able to offer a salary high enough to attract good candidates. We found Ivory Johnson in a week, a student chef halfway through her program. A temp staff,but good enough to relaunch the restaurant. We also got a sous-chef and three servers.

I tracked down a couple of social media influencers—no one reads the papers anymore—and paid them to come in for a review. Those videos started to generate some buzz. In the last two weeks, we’ve had a regular string of customers. While some people have deemed Ivory’s cooking as no better than average, no one has outright hated the food.

We’re nowhere near breaking even, but we’re on the right path. Plus, I already wired a huge sum back home for my father’s treatment. I feel less like a failure than I have in years.

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