Page 42 of The Kiss Keeper
“We need to go!” she cried, throwing off the quilt and sprinting to her suitcase.
“Five minutes, right?” he called from the other side of the room.
“Yeah, and if my grandparents are running this anniversary week like a camp, which I’m pretty sure they are, we do not want to be late.”
She yanked a bra and a pair of panties out of her suitcase, Houdinied herself into the garments at Mach speed, then shimmied into a T-shirt dress and pulled on a pair of sneakers. She glanced over at Jake and caught an eyeful of her fake boyfriend’s ripped back as he threw on a T-shirt and cargo shorts then pulled on a ball cap.
He turned to her, and she smoothed her dress.
“Do I look okay?”
His gaze softened for a fraction of a second before he schooled his features. “Yeah, you look fine.”
“I think we can still make it on time. Let’s go,” she said, pivoting toward the door when she stepped on one of her sneaker’s laces and pitched forward, falling ass over elbow, and twisted her ankle. She touched the tender flesh, then glanced up at her fake boyfriend. “I think I tweaked it.”
“Shit!” he whispered and scooped her up.
This caveman carrying routine was starting to feel remarkably normal.
“I can probably walk,” she said, bouncing as he sprinted out of the cottage and down the path toward the camp dining hall.
“No time!” he bit out, dodging rocks and muddy spots as the final bell rang.
One minute.
Jake huffed-it down the path as Fish was coming up.
“You’re the last two to breakfast,” he called with a wink.
Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!
Jake rounded the corner then slung open the dining hall’s old screen door. The hinges whined their protest as Jake thundered into the room like a wide receiver, leaping in the air to make a touchdown before the clock ran out, and all eyes landed on them.
“Good morning,” her grandfather said, raising an eyebrow.
He stood next to her grandmother at the front of the room as table upon table of Woolwiches and Woolwich family friends cocked their heads to check out the late arrivals.
“Did we make it?” Jake huffed on a winded breath.
“Barely,” her grandfather answered.
She scanned the room with an apologetic smile, but nobody looked all that surprised. And, of course, they didn’t. She was the screw-up Woolwich granddaughter.
But wait! She wasn’t—at least, not entirely.
She glanced up at her breathless fake boyfriend and plastered on a wide grin. “Hey, everyone! This is Jake.”
“Hi, Jake,” replied the room in unison.
“Does he ever let you walk?” Leslie asked from a table near the front of the room.
“I tweaked my ankle, but I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“I could take a look,” Leo said, coming to his feet, but, as quickly as he popped up, he sat down and proceeded to study his oatmeal.
She glanced over to find her fake boyfriend, stone-faced, pinning the podiatrist with his gaze, and a grateful warmth flooded her chest. Jake was three for three on thwarting Leo’s attempts to go all foot freak on her.
She turned her attention to her grandparents. “Sorry we’re late, we were—”
