Page 86 of Just (Fake) Married
Except my heart. My heart was putting on the brakes. My heart was trying to be reasonable. My heart was scared.
“And here it is in writing,” he said with a cheeky grin. “You want it too.”
He folded the note up and pushed it across the counter towards me. Then, like it was no big deal, he started cleaning up our takeout bags and containers.
With one eye on him, I opened the note.
My throat nearly closed as I looked at the addition to my resolution list. Under have more sex he’d written a series of bullet points, like an agreement.
For the length of our marriage.
With complete and utter respect to ground rules.
You say stop, we stop.
Total and complete fidelity, whether we do this or not.
I fucking want you, Harmony.
Hands shaking, I folded the note and tucked it in my pocket.
This was actually the closest I’d ever gotten to a love letter. Was that sad? Or amazing?
My heart was beating so hard it was all I could hear. I could feel it in my eyeballs. I opened my mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Aware the whole time that he was watching me. Not saying anything. Just tossing out trash.
Like a monster.
“Oh shit,” he said, looking at his watch and then getting to his feet. “We’ve got to get over to that meeting.”
TWENTY
ETHAN
I tookher hand just as we reached the town hall. She glanced down at our joined hands but didn’t pull away, like she understood the assignment.
Pretend to be in love in public.
Inside, there was a small lobby where a teenage girl sat at a desk.
“Marion,” Harmony said. “What are you doing out here?”
“Mrs. McCormick wanted me to take attendance,” she explained.
“Ethan, this is Marion Blackfeather,” Harmony introduced us. “She’s Sandra’s daughter as well as our town’s amateur historian. She works at the museum on the weekends.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand. “What’s it like in there?”
“Full.” Marion said. “You better get going. Mrs. McCormick is like totally freaking out that you won’t be showing up.”
We climbed the creaky wooden stairs to the second-floor museum, which held more awesome moments from our shared past. Past the stairs was a giant wood-paneled room that used tobe the train depot waiting room. And it was full to bursting with people facing a small stage where Mrs. McCormick was laying out her cookies and arguing with Ida Strunk.
“Oh, wow,” Harmony said, stopping by the doorway and trying to stay hidden. “I’m nervous. I’ve never been nervous before a meeting before. You know, maybe I shouldn’t be in charge of the committee. What if-”
I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her around the corner to a small alcove before the entrance to the museum. I pushed her against the wall and braced my arm near her head.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“You can’t go in there like you don’t know what you want. You’ve got to go in there like you’re ready to take control of that stupid festival.”
