Page 83 of Stick Work

I poke my egg. “An old romantic comedy.”

His brow lifts, amused. “Yeah?”

I almost laugh. Here we tried to pull off our own real-life romantic comedy, only for it to crash and burn in spectacular fashion. Nothing funny about that.

“Yeah,” is all I say.

“Sounds good.” He takes a bite of his toast and I stare at him, my chest warm as his mere presence comforts me. We eat in silence, the soft flicker of the TV casting a glow across the room. When we’re finished with our food, I curl into his side, letting his warmth wrap around me. His fingers brush against my arm in lazy, soothing strokes, and it eases the tension in my body.

Then, in what feels like a blink of an eye, I wake up. Only I’m no longer on the sofa. I sit up too fast, my heart kicking against my ribs as I take in my surroundings. Elias’s room. His bed. The sheets tangled round me. How did I get here?

I lift the cover to find myself in my bra and panties. Elias must have carried me to bed and tucked me in. That realization sends warmth through me that has nothing to do with the blankets. I glance at the clock, and I’m surprised it’s late morning. Elias is already at practice and I have an hour to pull myself together before meeting Sahara.

Feeling sluggish, I drag myself into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of exhaustion clinging to my body. But even after I’m dressed, my limbs feel heavy, my stomach unsettled. Like a hangover without the booze.

An hour later, I push through the doors of The Nook and immediately spot Sahara, her fingers curled around a coffee cup. She waves me over, and I hurry to her, eager for the distraction, for the comfort of my best friend.

The moment I sit down, her sharp gaze sweeps over me. Concern flickers in her eyes, her head tilting. “Are you okay?”

I exhale, rubbing my forehead. “I haven’t been feeling well, actually.”

Her eyes drop to my hand. And just like that, her entire expression shifts—her mouth falling open, her gaze going wide as she grabs my fingers like I might try to run.

“Taylor,” she hisses, her voice just shy of a shriek. “What the hell?” She stares at the ring gleaming on my finger like it’s a bomb about to detonate. “You got married in Vegas?”

“Shh!” I lean in, glancing around, my pulse spiking.

“Sorry. What the hell happened?”

I quickly explain everything, from Grandma, to the license, to us not knowing Rip could actually officiate a wedding. “It’s crazy, right?”

“Why are you asking that like it’s a question?”

I wave my hands like I’m trying to take flight. “I just mean, it’s crazy. Elias doesn’t want to be married to me.”

She sits up a little straighter, her hands flat on the table. “Taylor…”

“Yeah.”

“You love him.” It’s a statement, not a question, followed by, “You want this.”

I work to form a response, but what am I going to say, that she’s right about everything but Elias is adamant about ‘fixing’ this? “He doesn’t love me,” I finally manage to get out. “This was all a ruse. He’s trying to fix this.” She shakes her head and I continue, “Come on, his parents think I’m going to be someone important.” I put my hands on my chest. “If they knew who I really was…”

“They’d love you,” she says quietly.

“I’m not…no. He doesn’t want this. He would have stopped pretending and made it real, right?”

“Taylor,” she tries again, but before she can get her words out, Avery appears beside the table, her usual bright smile in place.

“Taylor!” she chirps, oblivious to the minor crisis unfolding between me and Sahara. “Coffee?”

I nod, forcing a smile. “Please.”

She lingers, tilting her head. “How were your holidays?”

“Good,” I say quickly, hoping she doesn’t notice the way my voice wavers.

Her gaze darts around. “Elias not with you today?”

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