Page 4 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

The air between them turned electric. Daphne knew the man before her was furious; she could sense it in the snap of static against her skin, the tension that stole over his body, and the way his eyes went from cold to glacial.

“I would stop talking if I were you, Davis,” he warned quietly.

Normally, Daphne would comply. She’d lived her life trying to be the sensible one. She always double- and triple-checked her work. She actually read the terms and conditions for all the apps and services she used, instead of just clicking “Agree” and moving on. Sassing an officer of the law a day and a bit before she started working for the sheriff’s department was not the way Daphne operated.

Well. Not usually.

Because Daphne wasgood. She’d worked hard all her life. Got the scholarships. Got the degree. Got the boyfriend who turned into the fiancé. She’d had a steady job as an accountant at a large firm, and life had been chugging along exactly as it should for someone so dutiful and responsible as she.

But now, as the rain grew heavier and soaked through the shoulders of her sweater, Daphne felt like a pressure cooker about to blow its lid.

She was back on the island where she’d grown up, facing off against the man who’d gotten in her way and almost made her lose it all. And not only were they going to be working together, but he was actually thesheriff. He was in charge.

And he was handsome, damn him! He’d been this scrawny little teenage bad boy with a chip on his shoulder the size of Fernley Island, and now he was ... he wasthis. This muscular, grown-up, large-and-in-chargeman. Not that she was attracted to him, but it galled her that he hadn’t turned into a sad, balding, leather-skinned wreck like he was supposed to. Wasn’t that what happened to high school rivals? They didn’t pop out of thin air looking like part-time calendar models forSheriffs Illustrated. They peaked at seventeen. That was how these things worked.

But Calvin Flint seemed to have peaked about two decades later, and Daphne had the horrible sensation that she was the one who was past her prime.

He was standing in the pouring rain, and his uniform still looked neat. How? That’s what Daphne wanted to know. How did the hair sticking out from under his cap not look like a sodden mess, when she knew her own locks were plastered to her head like a helmet? How did the crease down the front of his pants look sharp as ever? Why couldn’t he look the least bit soggy, just this once?

She was in a foul mood. She was mad about being pulled over. Mad about being pulled overby him. Mad about being on the island at all, with her broken engagement and bout of unemployment and swirling belly full of shame. Mad that she hadn’t actually enjoyed any of that ice cream, after all.

And, fine. Daphne could admit that even though she was happy for her sister, seeing Ellie so happy and in love had been like a very thin needle being inserted right into the center of her heart. Because Elliewas a tornado turned human. She was well-intentioned chaos. She was impulsive and brash, and somehow that made her likable.

Daphne couldn’t measure up. Ever since they’d been kids, Ellie had always eclipsed her. Not in school, or grades, or responsibilities. No, Daphne ruled those areas. But Ellie had more charm in her pinkie finger on a bad day than Daphne could have cobbled together during her whole life.

Daphne triedso hardto be good. To be responsible. To do what she needed to do. But the one thing she could never be was goodenough.

As she stood in front of the man she’d least expected to see, facing the reality that she’d be seeing a whole lot more of him unless she quit her job and landed herself in an even worse position than her current one, Daphne couldn’t curl into herself and play the good, dutiful, responsible citizen. She couldn’t take the submission of it. The smirk she knew would grace Flint’s lips.

She couldn’t let him win.

Her chin lifted. “Is this the part where you frisk me? Because if you touch me, I’ll—”

“You’ll what.”

The static against her skin became sharper, and the sheriff took one single step closer to her. Daphne locked her knees and stood her ground.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, Davis,” he told her in a low voice. “I stopped you because your left taillight is out.”

Daphne deflated like an old party balloon. She combed her fingers through her hair and winced when they snagged on wet knots. “Oh.”

“I could write you a ticket,” Flint noted, “but I won’t. Get it fixed before you come to the station on Monday. Now, go on,” he said, dipping his head toward her car door. “I’ll escort you home.”

“How magnanimous of you,” she said, sneering, because apparently she was petty and rude on top of it all.

“You’re testing my patience, Cupcake.”

Daphne stiffened at the old nickname delivered in such a dark tone. But two could play at that game. “It’s what you deserve, Einstein.”

His jaw worked, highlighting the hollows beneath his cheekbones and the sheer manly perfection of his bone structure. He was truly awful.

The only sound was the splatter of the rain. “Do you want a ticket, Davis? Because I’m more than happy to give you one.”

She met his eyes and snorted. “Working together should be fun,” she said; then she brushed past him and got in her car. Her hands shook as she put her seat belt on, and she wasn’t sure if it was nerves or fury or the force of Calvin Flint’s presence that was doing it. With a frustrated huff, she started her engine.

It wasn’t until Daphne had her turn signal blinking to merge back onto the road that she realized she had, indeed, talked her way out of a ticket. Straightening, she glanced at the lights in her rearview mirror and squinted ...

Then she let a small secret smile tug at the corners of her lips.

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