Page 21 of Mismatched Mates

“Youwhat?” Her voice turned practically supersonic. “Why did you not tell me thisimmediately?”

“Because I knew you’d freak out.” Heather knew I didn’t go around kissing people lightly. “And because I needed a second to process in between life being crazy.”

“Your life isalwayscrazy.”

“Exactly.” I finished eating and went up to wash my hands at the faucet. “And seeing as I knew I was going to be seeing you…”

“Okay, okay, you’re not forgiven but we’re going to move on anyway.” She waved a hand. “The question is, was it good?”

I paused, staring at my hands as I dried them. The truth was obviouslyyes. Kissing Grant had been surprisingly good—or maybe, scarier than that, it had been incredible. Hands down the best kiss I’d ever had, even when things had been honeymoon-sweet with Jason.

“He knew what he was doing,” I said after a moment.

“Does the fact that he’s an amazing kisser change anything?”

“Obviously not.” I straightened the tea towel hanging above the counter and poured myself a glass of water. “I’m not even going to see him again until the gala, and it’s not like we’ve been messaging every night.”

He’d given me his number in the restaurant, but neither of us had actually used it to do anything other than organize logistics for the gala. Which would be highly publicized. My stomach knotted every time I thought about it.

Actually, all week I’d been feeling slightly unsettled, like my meeting with Grant, this flash of coincidence, was an insight into a world I hadn’t even known I’d wanted. Breathless kisses with an unobtainable man, and a break from the regular, predictable mania of my everyday life.

Terrifying. Dangerous. Absolutely not something I was prepared to get myself involved in.

Heather pulled out her phone—evidently it was fine forherto be on the internet—and was scrolling, her lips pinched. “Oh my, he is snackably delicious.. And he gets around,” she murmured.

“Hey!”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t looked him up. You still live in Pine River—you probably know the rumors anyway. Grant Elston,” she sang. “Ladies’ man. He’s basically a 20th century rake.”

I flopped onto the sofa and folded my arms across my stomach. “Shut up. This is exactly why he needs me for this publicity stunt, okay? His reputation isn’t the best.”

“His reputation isawful.”

A surge of defensiveness rose through me, and I forced myself to bite it back. Nothing she was saying was wrong, and none of it was news to me. Those were the same accusations I’d thrown at him; the fact he had a prolific—and very public—dating history. There was no reason for me to come to his defense.

The man was no angel. He’d admitted as much.

Heather glanced up from her phone. “Weird how most of the articles on the family focus on Grant’s dating history. Anyway, just be careful, Nutcracker. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Relax,” I said, like it was something I frequently did, like I hadn’t been overthinking my every life decision since the moment I’d decided to stay in that restaurant and agree to this ridiculous fake-dating scheme. “It’s going to be fine.”

“Congratulations, I’m even less convinced.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Tell me something, Jane, and be honest with me. Do youlikehim?”

I snorted. Then, because I wasn’t sure it was convincing enough, I snorted again. “Seriously? I barely know the guy. There’s nothing for metolike. We’re basically strangers. Trust me, this isn’t the cute little love story you think it is.”

“Not that I think it is,” she said, taking out two gin glasses and a bottle of rhubarb flavored gin. Our favorite. “More that I’m afraid it is.”

JANE

The afternoon sun painted my kitchen in warm hues as I finished cleaning the kitchen the Monday after my weekend with Heather. I savored the quiet, my fingers wrapped around a steaming mug of chamomile tea. Who knew peace was as simple as freshly washed laundry and a silent house.

A sharp knock interrupted my thoughts. I groaned, contemplating ignoring it. Maybe if I stayed very still, they'd think the house was empty and go away. Another knock. No such luck.

I padded to the door, swinging it open to reveal a courier, looking about as thrilled to be there as I was to see him.

"Jane Rider?" he asked, thrusting an envelope at me.

"That's me," I said, accepting the package. "Thanks, I guess."

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