Page 25 of Top Shelf

Our eyes lock.

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Five-thirty,” I say. He winces, then scoots back against the couch and lifts his blanket.

“Then get back over here,” he says. I stare at him, unsure if he means what he seems to mean. When he senses my hesitation, he smiles. “Just get over here and go back to sleep with the best fake boyfriend you ever had.”

I can’t tell if he’s still in a daze or what, but I’m not letting the chance to curl up against him go. I tiptoe across the floor and slide under the blanket, letting him tuck it around both of us. And before I know it, I’m drifting back to sleep under the arm of Tyson Calway.

I wake to someone licking my face, and judging by the way the breath smells, I’m really hoping it’s Odie and not Tyson. When I open my eyes, I’m relieved to find that I’m right.

“Ode, that’s enough,” he says from behind me, snapping his fingers. “I’m comin’.” He scoots out from around me, walking toward the back door and letting Odie outside. He fills up a big bowl with dog food, then sleepily walks back to the couch, plopping down next to me. “How’d you sleep?” he asks.

I smile.

“Better than I have in years,” I tell him. He smiles and holds out his arms.

“The magic of the fake boyfriend,” he says. “How about some breakfast?”

I smile and nod, still clutching onto the pillow we shared.

“Whatcha got?” I ask.

“I’m a thirty-three-year-old bachelor,” he says, “so…not much. I was thinking we could run up to town and get something at Fran’s.”

My eyes widen.

“Like…together?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smile.

“Is that a problem?” he asks me.

“No, not for me,” I say. “I just…you know how people talk in Crooked Creek. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted people to think…or, ya know, say anything to your family.”

He laughs.

“Oh, my family already knows about ourarrangement,” he says to my horror.

“Oh, God,” I whisper. “Even Demi?”

He laughs again.

“Even Demi,” he says, standing up and sticking out a hand. “And she promised to be nice—for the most part.” I take his hand and let him pull me up, all the while groaning and covering my face with the other hand. “As for anyone else, I say, let’s give ‘em something to talk about. The more people that see us together, the better, right? Plus, you have to admit, the look on your mom’s face if and when someone tells her would be priceless.”

He does have a point there.

There wasn’t much that delighted my mom, and Tyson was no exception. None of the Calways were. She would at least smile at his youngest sister, Lo, when she was a kid, but the rest of them barely got a look. She was jealous of the Calways. They had the kind of money that my mom wanted people to think we had. But the thing about the Calways was, they didn’t act like it. They took care of other people in town. They kept to themselves mostly. And while no one’s life was perfect, they all seemed to genuinely like each other. Even through the death of both wives, Mr. C. kept his family together.

I think about it for a minute.

Every time we talk about this, or discuss acting on our arrangement, it feels like the slope gets a little more slippery. But it also feels so damn good.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Ten minutes later, we’re pulling up to Fran’s, the cute little diner-esque restaurant in the center of town that’s been a Crooked Creek staple for decades. I take a breath as we walk through the door together. Linda, one of the owners, stops mid-pour on a mug of coffee when she sees us and stands up straight, putting a hand on her hip.

“Well now,” she says, making every other head turn our direction, “there’s a sight I never thought I’d see again.”

Tyson and I give each other an awkward look.

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