Page 28 of Faking It With the Grumpy Single Dad

One thing is for certain, she’s definitely Jack Minton’s daughter, because she knows how to put on a performance. EvenIwould believe that I’m the new love of her life if I happened to see this photo.

“I’m going to post it to my Story,” she informs me.

“I don’t know what that means.”

She laughs, but doesn’t explain. After a few more taps, she grins and slips her phone back into her pocket.

“All set?” I ask.

“All set. For now, I guess.”

“Great.”Then, with a flutter of movement, Poppy leans in and wraps her arms around my waist. She squeezes tightly, the contact brief but firm, and then pulls away again half a second later.

A hug. She just hugged me.

“Thank you, Joe. Really.”

When I regain the ability to form complete sentences, I give her a smile.

“Don’t worry about it, Poppy. I’m just glad I can help.”

Chapter Nine: Poppy

Girl, who is that in your Instagram Story? Are you pranking someone?

I snort at the text from Sabrina. Her response is the only one I’ve paid attention to, even though dozens of my non-friends back in LA instantly blew up my phone the second I posted that picture of my hand clasped in Joe’s.

It’s the next day, and I’m down on the beach.

Twenty-four hours have passed since I posted the photo and I can still feel the warmth of Joe’s palm against mine. His skin is rough with calluses, the hands of someone who works hard every single day of his life. I’ve never held anyone’s hand like that before. Not unless you count the times I held my dad’s hand as a child. His fingertips were rough and hardened from decades of playing the guitar.

But with Joe… it felt different.

I think.

Anyway, now that a full day has gone by, the Story has automatically come down. I only have about a half millionfollowers on Instagram, given that I don’t post all that often, but that single picture definitely generated a lot of interactions.

Even now, as I pull my knees to my chest and idly scroll through the unanswered messages in the app’s inbox, I marvel at how incredibly nosy everyone can be about something that has absolutely nothing to do with them. I guess that’s kind of the point of social media, though.

Who is that!?one girl, whom I met at a party one time several months ago, sent me.

That’s not P!!!exclaimed another acquaintance.

Where even are you rn?asked someone that I don’t think even knows me personally.

I shake my head, switching back over to Sabrina’s text.

Don’t ask,I type back.It’s a long story.

If you say so…she replies a minute later.Aiden also wants to know BTW.

With a snort, I toss my phone into the sand beside me. Maybe this was a foolish decision. Of course, faux dating happens all the time in Hollywood. I know a ton of people who have gone out with various public figures to improve or otherwise draw attention to their image. It’s something that people don’t even bat an eye at.

Here in Mermaid Shores, however, things are different. Joe has never posed as someone’s boyfriend before. And, he’s a widow. He’s probably permanently heartbroken. In fact, maybe it was horribly callous of me to force him into this situation in the first place.

Except, he seemed willing enough.

I stare out at the foaming waves. It’s almost June, but the Atlantic is stubbornly gray and ice-cold. It’s nothing like the crystalline waters of Malibu, but I find that I like this version of the sea better. It feels wild and untamable, like a great beast that you can only ever marvel at from afar. I swear there’s a mysticalquality to it, as if there’s a whispering voice calling out to me between the rush of the waves.

---