Page 23 of The Kiss Countdown

“Free housing in exchange for a few rounds of playing pretend? Still, Mimi, that’s one hell of a deal—for you.”

“You’re not wrong, but...”

Gina watches me with wide, cautious eyes. “Girl, what more can there be?”

“We’ll be spending a week at his family’s cabin to celebrate his mom’s birthday.”

Gina opens and closes her mouth two times, but nothing comes out, and I know I really have shocked her.

“When is the move-in date?” she finally asks.

“Next week. I have until the seventh to vacate my apartment without getting charged extra.”

She nods. “So six days.”

“Six days.” I’m still trying to come to terms with the gravity of the situation.

“And this will all be for show?” she says.

“Yes. The New Year’s Eve party was for show, and going to his family’s cabin will be for show as well. Absolutely nothing will be going on between us otherwise.”

She snorts. “You can’t tell me you seriously believe that. What, are you gonna go all Mandy Moore inA Walk to Rememberand make him promise not to fall in love with you? Because you know he’s totally going to fall, right? He’s already halfway gone.”

“No, he’s not. Why would you say that?”

Gina looks at me deadpan. “Aside from the fact that you’re gorgeous? Well, let me tell you this. Before you ran into him that day at Moon Bean, he was walking right behind you. I swear, he was literally calculating all the ways he wanted to break your back.”

“Break my back? Gina, you are too much.”

I can admit (to myself, never Gina) that there is mutual attraction between us. But I’ve come across many attractive guys and never acted upon it. It’s part of life. There was attraction between Derrick and me from the very beginning, but it didn’t help our relationship survive.

I blow out a breath. “Really, Gina, I’m not interested in starting anything with him. In case you’ve forgotten, the man is leaving. To outer space.Andhe’s got momma issues.” I shake my head adamantly. “My focus remains on my life and my business.”

“If you say so,” she singsongs, sounding in no way convinced.

I reach down to rub my throbbing knee and groan. Something has got to give. I’m in my farmers market booth seated at the six-by-eight-foot table I banged my knee on at least four times as I was trying to drag it down from my apartment. It’s days like this that make me miss having (a) a team to help with setup and takedown, (b) a cache of items in storage so I wouldn’t have to use my own money to buy decorations, and (c) a stellar reputation so I wouldn’t have to be out here hustling instead of already planning events.

My table looks good at least, decorated with a gold cloth that sparkles in the sunlight, and in the middle is a clear flower vase full of electric twinkling lights and one dozen pink roses. Many patrons glance as they pass by, but since I’m obviously not selling homegrown food or handmade soaps, I’ve gotten no takers interested enough to stop by. All I need is one person, but I’m not sure if I’ll find them in this crowd or if the continued bruises to my knees and bank account make this gig worth it.

My phone rings, and I glance at it, happy for the distraction.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, Mimi. How’s it going?”

“Okay. Where are y’all today?”

“We finally made it to Las Vegas, baby! How’s work going?”

“Good.” I stand up, grimacing at the jolt in my knee, and move to the side of the curtain that separates me from my neighbor who’s selling goat milk. “I have a few events coming up that I’m looking forward to.”

“That’s good, honey. Real good.”

From here, I can see the window to my apartment. Four years I’ve been here—longer than most of my childhood apartments. In front of my window is a tall palm tree that seemed to shoot up during the summer and survived the unexpected freeze last October.

When I first moved in, dancing to “It’s My House” by Diana Ross was part of my Saturday morning ritual. I spent the first six months meticulously decorating it just so, purchasing larger items with each paycheck, like my favorite navy accent chair and a large painting of a chandelier.

If the burgundy curtains were open, I’d be able to see my small round dining table that has a Christmas centerpiece with sprigs of pine and red candles on it right now.

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