Page 44 of Fake Engaged to the Enemy

“I was worried that the wine might damage your expensive ring and thought this was a good alternative,” George says, catching my look.

I manage to smile at him. “It’s appreciated.”

We resume eating.

“How was work?” I ask again. “Any trouble from the guy who nailed himself?”

“Nope. Everything was pretty standard, other than receiving a bouquet of flowers.” George chuckles. “The crew was getting all ready to tease me mercilessly about that.”

I giggle. “No doubt Grandma had that in mind when she sent it.”

“No doubt. How was your day at the museum?” George asks.

Yes, this is perfect.

Something to talk about that will distract from these unusual feelings.

I launch into everything I’d learned about the town today. It’s an eclectic mix of random information, but George soaks it in as though I’m telling him the most interesting stuff in the world.

When I’m out of trivia, we’re done with our food.

This time, I insist on helping clean up. I take my ring off to wash dishes while he dries them.

As I’m working, I catch a grin on his face. He’s gazing at me as though he’s utterly charmed.

My traitor heart skips a beat.

“What are you looking at?” I demand, my cheeks going hot.

“You just sound so excited talking about everything you learned about Sandburrow. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I didn’t know any of that,” he adds.

I nod, trying to get myself back under control. “That’s good to know. It means that it’ll work as trivia for the museum.”

The calm, domestic scene I find myself in is so different from what I’m used to.

Even though George has a dishwasher, I find myself grabbing plates to handwash them as well. I don’t want our evening to end, even if it means cracking my hands a bit.

The truth is, I haven’t come back to myself since his faux proposal.

It’s funny how emotions work. They never quite do what you want them to do.

Right now, electricity seems to spark in the air.

I find the act of washing dishes somehow sensual. Maybe because George stands so near to me that I feel the heat of his skin radiating toward me.

“I still have a lot of work to do, but I have a good idea of how to get to the end product,” I say, trying to ignore the way my heart keeps wanting me to stare at him.

George is very handsome, but I’ve met enough handsome men to be wary of them.

What draws me in is less about his looks and more about other things. Especially the kindness he shows Grandma.

I’ve deliberately stayed away from Sandburrow as much as possible.

It’s not great. I know that I should be around more for Grandma.

So I’m glad that he’s been around, helping her out since I’m not here.

If I’m honest, there is a lot more to George Callahan than the infuriating rival I remember from high school.

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