Page 26 of Fool Me

Between his shock and how physically off-balance they had him, the three women managed to run him toward the water. Careening his head back, he saw an annoyed-looking Sadie standing and picking up her towel.Was she leaving?

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Julia had sure been right about this beach. Those women recognized Grant and clearly planned to use him to get their pictures all over social media. They’d obviously seen her too, but probably didn’t recognize her in her weird outfit and heavy slather of zinc cream. Still, from Julia’s description of Be-Seen, Sadie had imagined flirting, not scantily clad assassins dragging men into the Pacific. Their tactics were so crude that Sadie was tempted to help Grant escape their sunscreen-slimy clutches, but she had promised Julia she would storm off in a pouty huff whenever Grant became “distracted,” and this moment had to qualify. Letting out an exaggerated “harrumph,” she stood and gathered her towel, all the while scanning the area surreptitiously for anyone with a camera.

That was the other strange thing about this date, because ever since she’d arrived, all she saw around her were people fully absorbed in their own efforts to be photographed. No one was looking at her or Grant, let alone pointing a phone or other device their way. And if her fake indignant exit wouldn’t be noticed, let alone digitally memorialized, what was the point? To be honest, she’d much rather stuff her face with delicious-looking California rolls and fall asleep on those pretty pillows under the lemony, lacy shade.

The moment she’d spotted their romantic beach set up, an arrow of longing pierced Sadie’s heart—a longing for someone to love her so much and know her so well they would create something like this for her. The depth of that longing caught her unawares, and she’d needed an embarrassing several seconds to regain her powers of speech.

Grant claimed he’d created it specially for her but, given his relationship with Julia, he’d obviously only said that for the benefit of whomever around them might be listening…or recording. Probably Julia or Ronny had provided the umbrella, pillows, and snacks, because it all made for perfect photos. She rolled her eyes anew at the memory of Grant calling her the most beautiful woman there, despite her having shown up in the beach fashion equivalent of a snowsuit. That was the thing about fake dates—you couldn’t trust a single thing that happened in them.

And thank goodness date three would soon be over because, frankly, she was exhausted—exhausted by the planning, exhausted by her sisters’ teasing and suspicions, and exhausted at Grant always,alwaysoutmaneuvering her with his stubborn, clueless optimism and sense of adventure!

It didn’t help that she’d hardly slept. Vague, terrible dreams involving witches and spies who looked like Great Aunt Lydia had tortured her all night long. The worst nightmare of all was a reliving of her parents’ death in the car accident. She hadn’t had one of those dreams in nearly a year, and she always woke from them shaking and drenched in sweat.

Well, if she couldn’t enjoy this umbrella, her couch was the next best option. Maybe she’d stop at the corner grocery store first for some dried-out, made-yesterday California rolls plopped onto a flimsy plastic tray.

Towel in hand, she lined up her sandals, readying to put them on. Grant still struggled to escape, but if he could vanquish Slinger, surely he could get away from the Buxom Threesome. Just as she turned and faced the row of mansions, eager to retrace her steps to the South entrance, someone ran up behind her.

“Sadie, wait. Please, don’t go,” Grant said in a raspy voice.

She spun to look at him, and that was her mistake. There had never been a more dejected-looking human since humans climbed down from the trees. Sun and surf were supposed to make a person look younger, but the drawn down corners of his mouth and the pools of sadness in his eyes added twenty years to the twenty-five she assumed they both were.

Wow. He actually is a good actor.

“Can we…can we…” he said, “just have a seltzer and a few California rolls? Just that. Then you can go. I…I…” He paused, swallowed hard, and then prattled off, as if by rote, “We need to give the paparazzi a chance to get some photos of the third date.”

“I don’t see anyone with a phone or camera in the vicinity though, do you?” she said, gesturing around them.

His head swiveled as he turned in a three-sixty. “I don’t either, but they’ve got to be here, or they’re on their way. Maybe they got held up.”

This was a possibility, but truly, she did not care. Erasing this entire day from human history would be the best outcome for Sadie. But just as she spun to commence the sandy trudge to her waiting car, his hand connected briefly with hers. The heat, her exhaustion—something—caused his touch to send a zing up her arm. She rubbed at the spot with the towel still in her other hand.

“Please. One California roll,” he begged. “I’ve got pickled ginger and tamari—you like it better than regular soy sauce, right?”

She blinked at him. He’d remembered that? She pressed a hand against her forehead trying to massage away a sharp pain igniting behind her right eye, but the stupid, ugly frog baseball cap was in the way. It was too tight, too. “Fine, one roll,” she said as she reached up and tugged off the hat. She sent it straight down into the sand and gave it a solid stomping to make sure it stayed there. “And make mine iced coffee. I didn’t have any yet today, and I’m getting a roaring headache.”

“Do you still want me to take down the umbrella?” he asked.

“No. The shade is nice. Screw the paparazzi.”

Grant grinned, and Sadie felt a little piece of her disdain for him melt away, but only a little piece.

“Best three words I’ve ever heard,” he said. He rounded the umbrella so fast that, by the time Sadie allowed herself a deep breath before ducking underneath, the California rolls were set out and ice cubes were plink-plonking into glasses.

Sadie arranged a few of the softest-looking pillows into a backrest. She sat with her knees up and her arms loose around them, watching Grant pour the coffee. “You have a good memory. Sushi is my favorite, and I do prefer tamari.”

“At least now I can tell my parents I learnedsomethingin college,” Grant said and, once again, she laughed a little.

He poured two tall glasses and handed her one. She lifted hers back toward his, and they clinked a toast. “To the third and final date,” she said.

He looked confused for a second, then said, “To the third date.”

The iced coffee went down cold, creamy, and sweet. Her lack of sleep, the craziness of this day so far, and the perfection of their beach hideaway were all combining to make her a little giddy. Even the nearness of her sworn nemesis was starting to barely register. It was as if the golden, be-pillowed circle they inhabited formed its own little reality, far from the world where spinster pacts and roommate revenge had meaning.

After swallowing her first avocado-creamy, seaweed-salty, and wasabi-sharp mouthful, she sent Grant a sideways, guilty smile. “Therewasmud under my toenail this morning.”

Grant slapped a hand down onto the blanket, making sand grains dance. “I knew it!”

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