Page 13 of Faking It with My Bossy Ex

Don’t fall for it.

I learned the hard way that I can’t trust a man to be there for me or to not break my heart. My father was the first, Dylan the second, and Teddy, in Europe, my third lesson. I don’t need a fourth, no matter how tempting Dylan is with his chicken sandwiches and heart-stopping smile.

But here I am, falling into our old rhythm like it’s nothing. I take another bite of my sandwich, using it as an excuse to avert my eyes. I can’t let him see how he’s getting to me.

“So, what condition is the schedule in?” He pulls my attention back to him and our conversation away from potential imprisonment for breaking a cardinal rule of the library.

“It’s in awful shape.” I slide the notebook over to him and take another bite. It’s hard not to close my eyes in appreciation. There's nothing like this chicken melt, not anywhere in New York City that I've tried, anyway. And nothing quite like someone remembering your favorite.

Come on, who cares if he remembered my favorite? It's just bread and chicken. Totally forgettable. Absolutely not making my day or anything.

“Looks like we're swamped for the next few days. Tomorrow's gonna be a long one. Early start, probably all day. Think you can handle spending that much time with me?” He meets my gaze as he says it, and it sends a jolt through me.

He still has that ability to upset my axis and have me questioning everything I thought I was sure about.

His hand darts out and he touches my cheek. I freeze. His thumb makes its way from right above my eye to near my lips. His warm skin tingles against mine. My body is on fire, and I want to cry at the same time. I’ve missed him, missed this. It seems so easy to just slip back into what we were.

We stay like that for another second, and I’m almost sure I see similar feelings in his eyes. Then he pulls back and his arrogant smile makes a reappearance.

He hands me a napkin. “A bit of mustard,” he explains, his eye contact never wavering.

Mustard? Or did he just want to touch my face? I dab my cheek with the napkin, and sure enough, a dot of yellow appears.

Great, now he thinks I’m a sloppy eater on top of everything else.

We finish eating, and around an hour later, I pack up a couple of things into my backpack. It’s almost dark outside, and it’s time to go to Cozy Haven Inn for the night. A warm bed, a hot bath, and a blissful Dylan-free zone are calling my name. I shoot off a text to Laura, who agrees to give me a ride.

I expected today to be a never ending parade of me avoiding Dylan and hating his guts. Instead, he was actually kind of nice to hang out around.

Finding a way to tolerate Dylan’s company instead of loathing it could be a good thing. It doesn’t change my feelings about him.

“Need a ride to your hotel?” Dylan's voice cuts through my thoughts. He's leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his pockets, giving me that look. The one that used to make my knees weak.

Who am I kidding? It still does.

I force myself to meet his gaze, fighting the warmth spreading through my body. Why does he still have this effect on me? It's been years, for crying out loud.

“Um, no thanks. Laura’s going to give me a ride.” I survived the ride into town with him, but a repeat of the experience is a bad idea. Besides, Laura and I have been texting all day, and Laura wants to spend as much time with me as she can before I leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get lucky and my door will get jammed shut and I’ll be forced to spend the whole day resting in my cabin instead of coming back to town.

“Hey,” he calls before I leave. “Thanks for doing this.” For a moment, his gaze softens.

I nod, my response stuck in my throat. Maybe some time at the inn will give me time to come up with a game plan for how I’ll manage being around Dylan for the next week. As I walk away, I can feel Dylan’s gaze boring through my back, as if he’s reading me inside and out.

Would it be weird if I ran, so I’d be out of sight faster?

Yeah, too weird.

Laura is outside in her Jeep, the motor running and the windows fogging up.

She opens the passenger door for me and I jump in. I’d left my suitcase at the bakery, intending to pick it up later, but I see she’s already put it in the back.

“How’d it go?” she coos. “Everything set for the fundraiser?”

I groan out loud. She’s never going to believe it. Then once she does, she’ll never let me live the situation down.

“No, it’s not set. Would you believe I’m working with Dylan now, too? This town hasn’t organized a file properly for the past thousand years, I’d guess.” I shake my head. “When we were going through the boxes, I’m pretty sure I found a few bones from the prehistoric era.”

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