Page 35 of Revenge Brunch and Other Disasters

Sir Stumps-a-Lot, parked dutifully at her feet, growled faintly. Linda wasn’t sure if it was on her behalf or just because Micah looked like the kind of man who wouldn’t share cheese.

Micah turned back to Rhys. “So, no hard feelings.”

Linda watched Rhys. He looked calm. Too calm.

“Micah,” he said. “We talked about this.”

“Did we?”

“We did. For three hours. Over soup.”

Micah scoffed. “Whatever. I’m just saying, she better be worth it.”

Then he turned and flounced off, which shouldn’t have been possible in non-slip shoes but somehow was.

Linda stood in stunned silence. Then slowly turned to Rhys, so she missed the wink Micah threw over his shoulder.

“Over soup?!”

Rhys looked at her, deadpan. “It was lentil.”

“Oh my god.”

“He was really upset about the texture.”

“I cannot believe you have an actual backstory to tell your ex about our fake relationship.”

“Would you rather he thought you were just a rebound?”

“I’d rather he think I’m a hallucination! This is spiraling out of control.”

Rhys watched her try to recover, expression unreadable. But under the table, Sir Stumps-a-Lot gave him a conspiratorial sniff. Mission: Beard Chaos, phase one—complete.

Rhys tilted his head. “It could always spiral harder.”

Linda narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

But Rhys was already ordering coffee like they weren’t standing in the ashes of a very confusing love triangle.

As they walked out—Linda still reeling, Sir Stumps-a-Lot proudly pooping on Micah’s herb garden—Rhys turned to her casually.

So,” he said. “Any strong feelings about pretending to be engaged at Thanksgiving?”

Linda almost dropped her coffee.

Chapter Seventeen: Fridge Your Feelings – or Don’t

Linda

“HI, IT’S LINDA. If this is an appliance, surrender now. If you're human, speak quickly—my blender just growled.”

“Linda, it’s Sara. Want to come yell at my refrigerator? The ice-maker had a meltdown and is making one half cube an hour.”

“I’m on my way—make sure you have emotional support snacks for afterwards.”

“You LYING LIAR. You FAKE-ASS ICE MAKER.”

Linda stood in the middle of Sara’s kitchen, fists clenched, tears welling, as the fridge made a noise like a dying blender and spat a single sad cube into the tray.

---