Page 140 of Fake in Love

“They’re packed with vitamin C. Great way to fight off the cold.”

“And kill your tastebuds,” I say.

“Can’t take the heat, get out of the pepper-eating contest,” she replies and crunches down on the jalapeno.

Marci’s gaze is on the paper, the bold print headline declaring the audit and the breaking news about the last sheriff.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe he’s finally going to pay for what he did. Jesse, this is because of you. This is your doing.”

“It’s us,” I say. “Not me. We’re a team.”

Marci beams at me, beautiful as ever. Perfect. It’s like I can see her soul shining through, and it glimmers so bright, it’s the only thing I can see.

Hannah leans over and peers at the newspaper headline.

“Still can’t believe he got away with it for so long. Did you hear about Nate?”

Both Marci and I snap our attention to my little sister.

“What about him?” Marci asks.

“We haven’t been keeping track,” I add in.

“Yeah, well, you’ve both been preoccupied with each other.”

“And the diner,” Marci adds. “And setting up Jesse’s new business.”

I’ve been taking photos. Weddings, kids, pets, anything I can. I don’t need the money, but I want to do it, and it brings me so much fucking joy, I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks.

“Nate Davis is leaving Heatstroke,” Hannah says with a devilish smirk. “That asshole got what he deserved. His wife left him. Caught him cheating, apparently.”

“I want to be happy,” Marci says. “But I’m over it. I don’t care.”

I love this woman so damn much. I sit down on a stool in the diner, reach into the pocket of my jeans, and place an envelope on the counter between us. It’s unmarked.

“What’s this?” Marci asks.

“A celebration,” I say.

She opens it and removes two plane tickets. Marci starts shaking, and Riley, her server, stops nearby with her tray.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s our honeymoon,” I say. “We never got a real one. We’re going to Rome.”

“Rome?” Riley perks up. “Oh my gosh, that isamazing.”

Hannah gasps. “Jesse, that’s so thoughtful.”

Marci practically dives over the counter again, trying to wrangle me into a hug. I laugh and lift her into my hands.

“I think,” Riley says, “you should take the rest of the day off, boss.”

And we do.

I take my wife home in our new silver Audi, park outside the cottage, and lift her into my arms. I carry her into the cottage, over the threshold, and into the bedroom. I lay her down on the bed, her splash of red hair spread on the white sheets.

My woman. My forever. My home.

I lie down beside her, draw her into my arms, and keep her, the broken pieces, the whole ones, and everything in between.

“I love you, Jesse.”

It’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear from her perfect lips, and as I capture them, I know that for the first and last time, I have found it. The real thing.

“I will love you,” I whisper, between kisses and caresses, “for the rest of our lives. And when we die, I will follow you, wherever you go, Marci Walsh.”

---