Page 58 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

Shirley nudged her with her elbow. “Look at you, asking relevant questions. You’ll be a deputy by the time we’re done with you.”

“No, thank you,” Daphne said, gesturing to her face, then her ankle. “I don’t think that would be good for my health.”

The two others laughed, and Daphne retrieved her leftover pizza from the press. It was warm and crisp—nearly as good as it had been the night before. She sat at the table with Hank and Shirley, talking shop, feeling like she was part of something bigger than herself.

At her old job, she’d worked in one gray cubicle amid a sea of identical gray cubicles. Her coworkers had been quiet, studious accountants who kept their headphones in and seemed horrified when someone spoke more than three words in a row. The only noise in the office was the clack of keyboards, the clicks of mice, and the hum of the air conditioner system. She’d eaten lunch at her desk almost every single day.

It was nice to eat with other people, to feel like she was part of the team. To belong.

Daphne hadn’t belonged anywhere on this island before. At eighteen, she couldn’t wait to get away. Now she wondered if she’d been running away—and what she’d been running from.

When she got back to the interview room that served as her office, there was a small container on her desk. It was a tiny container of ice cream, but it was all-white cardboard—no logo. On top of the lid, a spoon balanced. Daphne glanced over her shoulder, but no one was looking her way. She crutched her way to the other side of the desk and popped the lid.

Mint-chip ice cream. Responsible Daphne would put it away, because pizza and ice cream were not a nutritious lunch, never mind not knowing who had left it here for her. But Responsible Daphne didn’t seem to be in charge at the moment, because Daphne found herself grabbing the spoon and taking a bite. Her shoulders dropped as the ice cream hit her tongue, and she knew—she justknew—that this stuff was made by Rhonda Roberts.

Maybe the other woman wanted to apologize for spreading rumors about her, Daphne reasoned. It was an apology pint. That explanation was enough to satisfy her, so Daphne sat back in her chair and enjoyed the treat. Then she got back to work.

At five o’clock, there was a knock on her office door. Flint leaned against the frame. “Ready?” he asked.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” she replied, “and I think I’ll sleep at my place tonight.”

“Oh yeah? How are you going to get there?”

She gave him a flat look. “I’ll take a cab.”

“And the stairs?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Am I really that terrifying?”

“Please,” she scoffed and leaned back, crossing her arms.

The truth was, being in his presence was confusing. They could pretend to date each other for three more weeks without bunking together. It made more sense for them to pretend to take things slow to at leasttry to stem the tide of gossip. But the more time she spent with him, the more she liked him. And she didn’t want to like him. She just wanted to do her job, get her feet back under her, and figure out her next steps. Dating—or fake dating—a high school rival wasn’t conducive to achieving those goals. She needed to focus, and remember who she was.

She was Good, Responsible Daphne, who did things the way they were meant to be done.

Except when she planned covert heists with her batty grandmother. And when she almost-kissed the hot sheriff she was pretending to date.

The sheriff entered the space, and suddenly there was too much of him. His presence filled the room from wall to wall to wall. His energy snapped against her skin like it had that first night when he’d pulled her over on the side of the road. He leaned his knuckles against her desk, his body angled toward hers. Daphne fought not to lean back in her chair to make space between them. It felt too much like surrender, so she set her jaw and glared at him.

When he spoke, his voice was low and soft. “Do you always struggle to accept help from people, or is it just me?”

“Maybe I don’t trust your intentions.”

His answering smile was wicked. “That might be smart of you.”

Daphne’s feet were firmly planted on the floor, but she was off balance. Knowing it was a kind of surrender, she tore her gaze away from his and dropped it to her desk. She busied herself with shuffling her papers and closing her laptop. “I don’t understand why you are so insistent on having me stay with you.”

“Under my watch, you’ve been punched, tackled, and thrown across the room. You’ve had two black eyes and a sprained ankle. I don’t like it. I don’t trust you to make it through the evening on your own.”

“And you care why?”

“I already told you, Cupcake. I don’t want to have to find another accountant. We need to finish this work and give the people of Fernley a definitive answer before the election. The fastest way to do that isto keep our team safe, including you. That, and I don’t want to find another date to my mother’s vow renewal.”

Glaring at the sheriff had precisely zero effect. He still watched her with those thick-lash-rimmed hazel eyes, challenging her.

It felt like she was seventeen again, being sent to detention for the first time in her life because of him. Infuriating, impossible man. The heat in her gut was anger, she was sure. The way her thighs clenched was a fight-or-flight response and nothing else. Though the pulse between her legs felt like white-hot lust, she knew she was mistaken about it.

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