Page 47 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

She met Calvin’s gaze when he nudged her with his shoulder.

“You still want to do this?” Calvin asked quietly.

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

Her lips curled ever so slightly, but the sadness he’d caught hadn’t quite left her eyes. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

Calvin wondered what was making her look so down. He wondered why, exactly, she’d agreed to be his date. He wondered why her grandmother had questioned him so strangely. But mostly he wondered about whether Daphne was looking forward to their date, even the tiniest bit.

Before he could probe her for answers, Ceecee came back in the room with Helen. His little sister’s voice was bright as she said, “At least my aunt Kathy will be happy that there’s enough time for Daphne to learn the choreography. She started teaching it to Jenna Deacon, but Jenna wasreallybad, and Kathy was gettingsuperfrustrated. I had to go hide in my room for a while because I knew she was soooooo mad. And really, it’s not that hard. Even a baby could learn the steps. I can help Daphne, but only if she’s better than Jenna Deacon. I don’t think anyone can help Jenna Deacon. She dances like a malfunctioning robot.”

Calvin felt Daphne go still beside him, and his own muscles seized up. Brows tugging low over his eyes as he caught his little sister’s gaze, he couldn’t help the tightness of his voice as he asked, “What’s this about choreography?”

Step Three: Fake It Till You Date It

Chapter 18

Daphne sat in Flint’s truck and glared at the wrought iron fence outside his mother’s house. It was midmorning on a gorgeous sunny Sunday, and there were a million places she’d rather be than outside Eileen Yarrow’s house with Calvin Flint at her side.

“We don’t have to do this,” the man beside her said.

She tore her gaze away from the fence and traced the line of his clean-shaven jaw, the little divot in his chin, the shape of his lips. When she met his eyes, she was surprised to find them soft and sincere. Sunlight lit half his face, highlighting the color of his irises.

It should’ve been illegal for a man to have such nice eyes.

“Look, coming with me is one thing,” he continued, “but learning some ridiculous dance is another. I understand that. I’ll get it if you want to back out.”

“Stop being so nice to me,” she said. “It’s weird.”

“You know what’s weird?” he asked, leaning his head against the headrest.

“What?”

“Your grandmother, Cupcake. She’s weird. What was all that about yesterday? Grilling me about some old pot?”

Daphne shifted uncomfortably in her seat and tried to affect a careless wave. “She was just reminiscing. She does that sometimes. And she’s not weird, okay. She’s wonderful.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive. Just look at you.”

Her gaze cut to his, and he let out a laugh at whatever he saw written in her glare. Then his words sank in, and Daphne realized he’d called her wonderful. Pausing, Daphne tried to make sense of that strange new piece of information. What had he been thinking when that wave of self-pity washed over her as Ellie walked in and overshadowed her for the millionth time with a silly story about a dog? And why had it made her feel so unbearably special when he’d noticed her?

Flushing, Daphne reached for her door handle.

“Wait,” Flint said, his hand dropping to her forearm. The heat of it sank through her jacket into her skin, and Daphne held back the shiver his touch caused.

“What?”

“Should we go over our story? Your family didn’t exactly seem satisfied with your ‘We’re taking it slow’ spiel.”

“Don’t worry about them. They think I’m moving on from my ex, and they’re excited,” Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

“You keep mentioning him,” Flint noted, the corners of his eyes tightening slightly.

“Feeling threatened, Sheriff?” Daphne snorted. “Don’t bother. We broke up nearly two years ago.”

“Mm.” He moved his hand from her forearm and rubbed his chin. “So what’s our story?”

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