Page 20 of Pumpkins & Promises
"No, Wesley. We have a fake relationship that accidentally got some real feelings mixed in. But you've made it very clear which part you think is authentic."
She turns to go, and I reach for her arm. "Emily, wait?—"
She pulls away from my touch. "I need to get back to my family. And you need to figure out whether you want a girlfriend or a marketing strategy."
"That's not fair?—"
"Fair?" Emily turns back to face me, and now the tears are visible. "What's not fair is me falling for someone who thinks so little of me that he'd believe I'd manipulate my way into his life for social media followers."
"I don't think that?—"
"Yes, you do. And maybe that says more about you than it does about me." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm going to go back in there and pretend everything's fine, because it's Thanksgiving and my family doesn't deserve to have their dinner ruined. But after tonight, this arrangement is over."
"Emily—"
But she's already walking away, leaving me standing alone in the hallway with my phone and my doubts and the sinking realization that I've just destroyed the best thing that's happened to me in years.
When I return to the table five minutes later, Emily is laughing at something her uncle said, playing the part of the happy girlfriend perfectly. But she doesn't look at me for the rest of the meal, and when dessert is served, she makes sure to sit as far away from me as possible.
I've spent my entire adult life protecting myself from people who might use me.
It never occurred to me that the person I should have been protecting Emily from was myself.
Chapter Seven
Emily
I'm sitting on Hazel Elliott's front porch, nursing my second cup of tea and trying to explain why I feel like the world's biggest fool, when she sets down her own cup and gives me that look.
"Emily, dear," Hazel says in the gentle but firm voice she probably used on three generations of third-graders, "you're being too hard on yourself."
"Am I?" I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic mug, grateful for something to hold onto. "Hazel, I heard him talking to his agent about how I'm getting something out of this relationship. About my 'tripled followers' and how smart I am to capitalize on the opportunity."
"And?"
"And that means he thinks I'm using him. Just like his ex did."
Hazel leans back in her rocking chair, studying my face. "Does it? Or does it mean he's scared?"
I look up at her, confused. "Scared of what?"
"Of caring about you. Of letting someone matter enough to hurt him." Hazel picks up her knitting. "You know, I taught that boy when he was eight years old."
"Wesley went to school here?"
"Oh no, dear. I'm talking about the boy inside Wesley. The one who learned early that people leave, that caring too much means getting hurt." She glances at me over her reading glasses. "Sometimes when we're scared, we say things we don't mean. Or we don't say things we do mean."
"But he didn't defend me, Hazel. When his agent said all those things, Wesley just let him."
"Mmm." Hazel's needles click in a steady rhythm. "And what did you do when you heard those things?"
"I confronted him?—"
"You ran, sweetheart. The moment you felt vulnerable, you ended the argument and walked away."
The truth of it hits me like cold water. "That's different."
"Is it?"
