Page 85 of Just My Fake Husband

I give a little snort. “Very funny. And don’t be proud of me. I might call you in an hour demanding we get her ASAP.”

“How about I pick you up right at five, Lunchie in tow, and we go hang out over there for a while?”

“As long as Skye doesn’t hear you calling her Lunchie, it’s a date.”

He makes a brief moaning sound. “Speaking of dates. I want to date you.”

I grin so wide my lips hurt as I slip low in my leather side chair, letting my head fall against the back. “I’m open to the possibilities.”

“That’s a very exciting response, River.”

“Tell me about it.”

I’m smiling hard. There’s an ease here. It almost feels like we’re doing that cheesy thing ofYou hang up! No, youhang up!

He picks me up at five on the dot, wearing the T-shirt I got him. I start laughing so hard I can barely breathe. This is the third time he’s worn it since last Tuesday. I think he’s determined to make me so sick of it that I actually want to burn it.

“Happy Third Anniversary,” he says, his eyes smoldering with layers of meaning I can’t wait to pick apart. He hands me a gift wrapped in brown Kraft paper and ribbon. It looks like a book.

“A bow? Now you’re fancy,” I say. I rip it open and feel, before I even see, the buttery soft leather cover under my fingertips.

I press the tan, leather-bound journal to my nose, then pull it away to read the embossed title. “You’re my ‘leather’ half.”

“It’s a journal, since yours are in storage.”

“Aww. That’s so thoughtful.” I hug it to my chest. “I love it.” I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him.

Fifty-two weeks. Fifty-two gifts exchanged. Except, I don’t want to stop at that. I mean, it could get a little ridiculous sharing gifts every single week. Besides, the traditional anniversary gift list I found stops at sixty.

Which makes sense.

But I don’t want to stop at sixty weeks. I want to keep going and going.

I don’t ever want to stop being Gabriel’s wife.

“My only stipulation about the journal is it has to be filled with entries about me,” he jokes, his eyes dancing.

“Maybe I should resurrect my old pastime of writing about your dimples.”

And as much as he pesters me about it the rest of the drive to Tollark, I don’t share any more information about this tidbit from my past. By the time we arrive, I’ve almost got him convinced I was making it up. I’m not ready to open up aboutthat, yet.

“You go on ahead,” Gabriel tells me, holding up his phone to show that Milo’s calling. “I’ll be right in with the dog.”

“Where’s Gabriel?” Skye says when I enter the game room where she’s watching TV with a couple of the other residents. She eyes me carefully and curls her upper lip. Is she upset that I stopped by?

“Well, hello to you, too.” I sling a bag down with a new coloring book featuring dogs and cats—and sigh. “Gabriel’s doing somework in the car. He has Lunch Lady Liz, so let’s head out to the courtyard so you can see her.”

“You and Gabriel are in love,” Skye says matter-of-factly and then proceeds to kiss her own arm, making smooching sounds. Always the class clown. I roll my eyes, but the residents who are gathered around laugh.

“We’re married, so . . .” An aching stab hits me. We are married. She would assume we’re in love.

I want to be in love with Gabriel.

The thing is, a part of me has already been loving him for over fourteen years. He’s been the one in a small, back corner of my heart this whole time.

And he wants to make this real.

A throbbing right through my stomach hits me.Iwant to make this real.

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