Page 39 of Faking It with the Firefighter

“Well, Donny could’ve considered running it past me. You know, the person who owns the house?”

Blair ignored me, marching back to the kitchen. I followed her, not even sure why I bothered. Maybe to make sure she didn’t mess with my stuff. I heard the front door open, and just as Blair was poking her head through the kitchen door, Rex appeared at the mouth of the hallway.

His eyes flicked to me—and the running outfit I hadn’t been able to change out of yet, because Blair had monopolized the bathroom and locked me out of using my own shower—thenover to Blair, who was opening the door and marching through my sanctuary.

She turned her nose up at the covered porch. “Would it kill you to vacuum once in a while, Abigail? And those mugs look like they’re growing mold.”

Rex’s brow arched as he approached.

I took a deep, calming breath. Or at least, I hoped very hard that it would calm me, with less-than-stellar results. “You can’t film in there,” I blurted.

Blair paused, her foot holding the kitchen door open, and turned to meet my gaze. Her eyes were dark and utterly serious. “Oh? And why not?”

“Because I said so, that’s why?” It came out like a question, and I cursed myself for it. I sounded weak.

Blair’s only response was to snort, and then she turned to Rex. Her face transformed. She flicked expertly curled blond hair off her shoulder and batted her lashes at him, smiling coyly. “Hi there, T. Did you have fun watching the game?” She swanned over to him, plucking a piece of lint off his chest. “Did you behave yourself?”

I gritted my teeth as my eyes narrowed.

Rex didn’t back away from her, but he didn’t seem to be lapping up her attention, either. He shrugged. “Game was all right. You two ladies have a good time at home?”

“Peachy,” I gritted out, then stomped to the refrigerator. I pulled out the old boxes of pizza and took a slice, masticating like the pizza had personally offended me. Meanwhile, Blair regaled Rex with tales of video setups and plans of live recordings.

“But we need a getting-ready shot. And the photographerhas a whole list of shots he needs to take outdoors, but look at the state of the backyard! What are we going to do?”

Rex glanced out the window and frowned.

And I had enough. I swallowed the bite of pizza in my mouth and faced her. “What you’re going to do is use your actual wedding venue for those photos, and not my home, Blair.”

She laughed and flicked her gaze at Rex. “I don’t know how you put up with her, honey.”

Honey.Honey???

That wasmyboyfriend she was cozying up to. Sort of. For now.

“I mean, when Donny told me the two of you were dating, I couldn’t believe it. I kept waiting for you to change the RSVP, but here we are.” She giggled, leaning against the kitchen counter in such a way that her breasts looked high and round, and a little strip of skin was exposed below her navel.

It wasn’t for my benefit, that was for sure.

The only thing stopping me from calling this whole thing off was the interaction in my bathroom this morning, and the casual way Gabe had assumed I couldn’t handle seeing this wedding through. He already expected the worst from me, and if I couldn’t even manage to do a favor for his best friend, I would only confirm his assumptions.

Blair was saying something—probably some subtly veiled criticism of me, my looks, my house, or my job—and I couldn’t handle it anymore. I grabbed the stack of pizza boxes and stomped outside.

Sure, the grass was a little long. Who cared? It was my grass to do what I wanted with! And yeah, the fence leaned a little on thefar side, and it probably needed a lick of paint. Whatdidn’tneed a lick of paint in this town? My flower beds were full of weeds with nary a flower in sight, but come on. I was a working woman with friends and a life. You couldn’t expect me to actuallygarden.

“Abigail!” The screen door slammed behind Rex as he came jogging toward me.

“Not now, Rex,” I replied, cutting across the grass toward my compost bin.

He reached me just as I lifted the lid off and said, “Whoa! You feel the heat coming off this thing? When’s the last time you turned your compost?”

“You stay away from my compost, Rex Montgomery,” I snapped. He watched me stuff the pizza boxes into it, mashing them down to compress the whole thing so I could fit the lid back on.

To his credit, he said nothing.

When I turned to face him, his expression was blank, and he was watching me like he was afraid I’d spook and run. I crossed my arms. “What.”

“I really appreciate you doing this for me, Abigail,” he answered quietly. He sounded sincere and genuine andnice.

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