Page 30 of A Chance for Us
Maren giggles, and I swear, her entire face lights up. She’s so fucking beautiful that it hurts to look at her. They’re right, she would be much too good for me if she were mine.
She just needs me to pretend to be hers, which is really proving to be far too easy.
“Now that you’ve all met, you should go back to your stools before someone takes them.”
Bill waves dismissively. “They can have it if I can have her.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s taken.”
“By whom?” he asks.
“Me, and you know it.”
I wish I could say this was all for show or that I was protective of her out of some sense of obligation to our arrangement, but I’d be lying. A part of me—a part I’d like to pretend isn’t really there—wishes it were true. Maybe it’s because she’s so fucking pretty. Maybe it’s because it’s clear she’ll go to any length to give the people she loves what they need. Maybe it’s because, when she looks at me with those big doe eyes, I want to fall to my knees in front of her.
Whatever the damn reason is, I need to remember that she doesn’t want me that way. She is only doing this because of her father.
And this is fucking fake.
Maren leans into me. “I think I have a good guy right here.”
Fred chuckles. “He’s all right . . . I guess. Don’t forget, though, not all that bright.”
I shake my head, the old people in this town need a different hobby. “Don’t you have some other person to harass?”
The door chime rings and Stella heads our way, making Bill and Fred tense. They may think they are tough and like to give everyone shit, but they’re afraid of my sister. In all honesty, we all are.
“Hello, boys. I hope you’re not bothering Oliver and Maren.” Her brow raises as though she knows exactly what they were doing.
Fred’s eyes turn soft. “Never, sweetheart. We were just meeting the newest member-to-be of Willow Creek Valley.”
Shit. I didn’t think about this. We haven’t had much time to talk about our story, the town people assume she’ll move here.
Stella doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s very kind, but as much as we’d love to visit with you both, we have wedding plans to finalize.”
And just like that, they leave. I really envy this woman sometimes. Stella sits and drops a binder onto the table. “Now that we’ve taken care of that, let’s get to work on this wedding and ensure that no one will think that you two aren’t in love.”
Nine
MAREN
I’m not as sure this is such a good idea anymore. Today, Dad and Linda arrive, and when we planned this after Oliver one-point-oh proposed, it made perfect sense for them to get here before everyone else. I wanted to let my father spend some time with Oliver before the wedding, get to know him, see how much he adored his baby girl.
This . . . well, this is utter insanity. Last night, Oliver and I spent three hours going over each other’s lives, friends, and family dynamics, and I still don’t feel ready.
Hence why I’m pacing the lobby while Oliver sits in a chair watching. “You know, the flooring is new, and I don’t have enough to replace it.”
I stop moving and shake my head. “We’re going to do this, right?”
“Yes.”
“But, like, we’re going to get away with this, right?”
My heart is racing, and I can’t seem to stop fidgeting. There’s too much at stake. These last few days have been fine because it was only a plan—an abstract concept I could pick apart and alter if I needed to. Now, it’s about to stop being a plan and become reality.
I hate reality.
“Relax, Maren. We’ll just . . . fake it till we make it.”
