Page 46 of Just (Fake) Married
“You’re arrogant.”
“You know that because I’m a surgeon?”
“And you’re a McGraw. You grew up knowing how important you were to this town.”
Again, he tipped his head. “Fair.”
“You love your brothers,” I said.
“True.”
“But from a distance,” I added.
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s easy to love people from a distance. Once you’re close enough to see all their faults and annoying habits and self-sabotage, it’s a lot harder.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“We’re talking about you. Not me.” I took a sip of coffee, and when he opened his mouth like he was going to tell me all the things he knew about me, I lifted my finger to get him to wait.Amazingly, he did. “But, the most important thing I know about you, is you don’t like Last Hope Gulch, despite all the privileges you had growing up here.”
He turned towards me, a knot between his eyes. I wanted to reach over and rub the spot smooth with my thumb.
“And you love it,” he said, not even bothering to deny that he hated it.
I nodded. My stomach growled, and the sandwich, even with sauerkraut, seemed like a good idea.
“Shall I tell you what I know about you?” he asked.
“Go for it.”
“You love this town. So much, that you’re willing to marry your high school nemesis to save it.”
I nodded and unwrapped the sandwich again. But no. The sauerkraut juices were all over part of the bun. I tried to find an unsullied area to bite.
“You love your family,” he said.
“Right again.”
“Your heart is soft. Too soft, some might say.”
“No way,” I argued.
“You have a blind dog and a goose with only one functional wing.”
“She has two wings, she can only use one. And what about that makes me soft? Should I put them down because they have challenges?” I asked, my voice getting shrill.
“No,” he said. “But there’s a reality about those two as pets.”
“You probably hate pets,” I said, making another attempt to find an unsullied part of the sandwich.
“I don’t have time for pets.”
I hummed in my throat and managed to use the top bun to get rid of all the sauerkraut. Then folded the bottom bun with the cheese and the egg into a taco type thing and took a bite.
“I know you hate sauerkraut,” he laughed, looking at my face.
I very discreetly spat the bite into the bag and dumped everything in after it. “So gross. Who in the world wants pickled cabbage on an egg sandwich?”
