Pretend You're Mine

by Francisco, Fabiola

  Poppy sighs with a smile. “Thanks,” she says after the song ends.

  “Is that your favorite song?” I realize I still have so much to learn about her.

  “Currently. I admit I go through favorite songs the way you go through jerky.”

  I laugh at her comparison and nod. “Which was your first favorite song?”

  “Don’t laugh,” she warns, turning in her seat to face me. She stretches the belt a bit so she can get comfortable.

  “Promise.” I cross an X over my heart while I keep my focus on the road.

  “Hero by Mariah Carey,” she exhales, waiting for my reaction.

  “That’s not too bad. I admit Mariah Carey had some good music in the nineties.”

  “She did. Her voice was amazing. I used to try to imitate her, but it was always a losing game. I can’t sing, not even the tiniest bit.”

  “And this makes you unhappy?” I lift a brow and chance a glance her way.

  “Isn’t it every girl’s dream to be some famous pop singer?” She leans her head on the headrest.

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m not a little girl,” I joke.

  “Funny guy,” she laughs, playfully shoving my shoulder.

  “But if I had to guess, I’d say every little girl’s dream is to be a princess who owns a pony.”

  “Well, I had the pony, so I wanted to have a good singing voice.”

  “If it helps, I can’t sing for crap either.”

  “Really?” Her voice shrieks with surprise.

  “Yup.”

  “But you work in the music industry.” Her eyes are wide as I pull into a parking spot near Romano’s.

  I look at her and smile. “I manage artists. I’m good at negotiating deals, spotting talent, and getting them what they want. However, I’m no singer.”

  “Well, that’s a shame. I don’t think I would’ve asked you to be my fake boyfriend if I had known you were as talentless as me when it comes to singing.” She shakes her head, pursing her lips.

  “Sorry for disappointing you. I guess it was in my favor you didn’t know before, or we can just break up in front of the restaurant tonight due to my lack of singin’ skill.”

  Poppy’s eyes fling wide open, and she shakes her head furiously. “Are you crazy? We can’t break up now!”

  I’d almost swear that part of her panic has nothing to do with the town’s opinion and more to do with spending time together. She blushes at the realization that she snapped at my suggestion.

  “Sorry. I mean, we totally can if you’re tired of this. I don’t blame you. You’re wasting valuable time with me when you can be with your friends or working. I don’t know.” She tries for cool and fails miserably with her fast rambling.

  “Poppy,” I wait for her to look up at me. When she does, her eyebrows are wrinkled with concern. “No time I spend with you is wasted. I like hanging out together.” I brush a strand of hair away from her face, no longer able to keep myself from touching her.

  “Oh.” Her lips pinch together. “I like spending time with you, too.”

  “Great, so let’s go have dinner.” I head over to open her door, but Poppy’s already out of the car before I reach her.

  “Yes! I’m starving and love their ravioli.” Her honesty is refreshing.

  Before we walk in, I grab her hand and lace my fingers through hers. Poppy’s eyebrows jump on her forehead as she looks at me.

  “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t hold your hand?” I shrug. I’m milking tonight to touch any part of her I can. I should probably tell her how I’m feeling, and maybe suggest spending time together for real and not for appearances.

  “True,” she whispers and looks forward as we walk into Romano’s. As I tell the hostess I have reservations, I notice the people eating in the restaurant staring at us and whispering.

  I lean into Poppy and whisper, “Pretend I said something funny and giggle.”

  She shakes her head and laughs at my suggestion, making my point. I don’t miss the shiver that runs through her when I speak into her ear.

  “You look beautiful,” I whisper again, and her head snaps in my direction, her lips inches from mine. I smile, and she blushes. “That wasn’t pretending, either,” I add, squeezing her fingers.

  Poppy’s eyes move back and forth between mine. I keep my head low, close to hers. Her soft breath fans across my face. If I move in, I’ll get to see what she tastes like.

  “Um, your table is ready.” The hostess clears her throat, and I look toward her with a smile.

  “Thank you.” We follow the hostess to our table, and I pull Poppy’s chair out for her to sit before taking my seat across from hers.

  “How was Nashville?” she asks, placing her napkin on her lap.

  “It was good. We had to meet with Sutton and wanted to see one of her performances in a local bar. I got to see my family, too, which is always nice.”

  “They all live in Nashville?”

  “Yeah, my parents live on the outskirts, and my brothers live in downtown.

  “You have two brothers, right?” Poppy leans forward a bit, keeping her gaze on me.

  “Yeah. They’re younger than me, twins.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s kinda cool.”

  “It is, except when we were younger, they’d play tricks on me. There was a phase where I couldn’t tell them apart. Makes me sound like a shitty brother,” I chuckle.

  “I don’t think so. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for parents of twins. If I had twins, I’d probably give them an identity crisis, switching their names around because I couldn’t tell them apart. When they’re old enough to correct me, who knows if the name they learned was the name originally given to them.”

  Poppy’s eyes grow as she talks. “I’d be the worst mom,” she finally adds.

  “I doubt that,” I smirk. “You could also tattoo them with their names. Permanent name tags.”

  “Okay, I take back what I said. You’d make the worst father,” she points at me laughing.

  Our waiter approaches our table to ask for our drink order and share their specials for the evening. “Is wine okay?” I look over at Poppy.

  “Yeah.” She leans back on her seat with a soft smile.

  “We’ll have the cabernet sauvignon and water please,” I order before he nods and leaves us alone again.

  “I think it’s nice you got to spend time with them,” she comments.

  “Definitely. We’re close now.”

  “That’s great.”

  I nod, happy I have a family with a bond like ours. My brothers, though rascals when we were growing up, mean the world to me.

  The waiter returns with a bottle of red and fills our glasses, leaving the bottle on the table for us.

  “Cheers,” I lift my glass and smile. Poppy follows, tapping her glass to mine. Her smile lights up her face as she looks at me over the rim of her glass, those gorgeous eyes taking me in with curiosity. She may try to conceal her emotions, but her eyes speak more than her words do.

  “How about your family? You said your uncle runs your grandfather’s ranch.”

  “Yeah. My grandfather retired, although he still goes around and tries to boss my uncle around. It’s always fun to watch.”

  “What about cousins that you grew up with since you’re an only child?”

  Poppy swallows a generous gulp of wine and wipes her mouth. “Yeah, my uncle has a son. They were at a rodeo, so they couldn’t make the ball on Saturday. I’m sure you’ll see them around, though. My cousin goes to Clarke’s often. I have another cousin on my mom’s side, but she’s a few years older. She went to college on the east coast and built a life out there.”

  “Yeah, distance is tough.”

  Poppy nods and looks around the restaurant. It’s nothing fancy compared to restaurants in Los Angeles, but it’s got a cozy vibe with white and red checkered tablecloths, feeding the Italian stereotype, and a brick wall behind the long bar.

  “Are you
ready to order?” The waiter appears, interrupting us.

  “I haven’t even looked at the menu. We got busy talking. Can you give us a moment?” I look at the waiter. He nods, saying he’ll return soon, and leaves us to it.

  “What do you recommend?” I smile at Poppy.

  “Everything,” she sighs. “The ravioli is my favorite. They have meat and spinach, and you can choose the sauce you want. I always get the spinach with creamy garlic sauce. Oh, and garlic bread. It depends on what type of pasta you like, but their carbonara is really good, too.” She talks with her hands, pointing out each recommendation on my menu as you would to a child. Must be the teacher in her.

  “I’ll try the carbonara. I guess I need to try this garlic bread, too, huh?”

  “Definitely,” she nods enthusiastically.

  I wave the waiter over, and we place our orders. After, I lean back and look at Poppy. She’s fixing her utensils next to her plate, straightening them out as if they weren’t already perfectly placed.

  When she looks up at me from beneath her lashes, chewing on her bottom lip, I hold back my groan. She’s got an innocence around her that would fool anyone, but I have a feeling she’s stronger and wiser than she makes herself seem.

  “Miss Powell!” A loud voice interrupts the moment, and I see a little girl running to our table. Poppy turns and catches the little girl before she collides against the table.

  “Hi, Claire.” Poppy hugs her and leans back, smiling down at who I can assume is one of her students.

  “I’m having dinner with my family, but I saw you here and had to come say hi.” Claire peeks over at me from behind her wild, wavy hair. She leans into Poppy and waves at me with a shy smile.

  “I’m glad you came to say hi. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She rubs Claire’s head, which causes the little girl to giggle.

  “Yeah, my mom said I can have dessert since it’s almost the weekend, and I got an A on my spelling test.”

  “What are you going to order?” Poppy’s eyes widen, mimicking the girl’s excitement.

  “The chocolate cake. An entire slice all for myself,” Claire grins, bouncing on her toes.

  “It’s so good,” Poppy tosses her head back and laughs. “Good choice.”

  “Claire.” I turn to see a man waving her over. “Sorry,” Claire’s dad mouths to Poppy. Poppy waves him off and returns her attention to Claire.

  “You’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow, promise?”

  “Yes!” Claire gives Poppy a final hug and skips back to her table.

  Poppy looks over and waves at Claire’s parents before looking back at me with a wide smile. It’s obvious she’s great with kids. The way she handled that little girl instead of seeming annoyed proves the kind of person she is.

  “I’m assuming she’s a student.”

  “Yeah. Smart cookie, too.” Poppy places her elbows on the table and leans her chin on top of her clasped hands.

  “She’s cute.” I turn to see Claire’s gleaming smile as the waiter delivers a slice of cake. I chuckle and shake my head. “And she’s really happy about that cake.”

  “Oh yeah, she’s got a sweet tooth.” Poppy shakes her head and takes a drink of wine. I refill our glasses and settle in my seat.

  I can see myself having a real relationship with this woman. Poppy Powell has a charm I want to get lost in and never be found.

  Poppy

  Harris has been the perfect gentleman. Attentive, sweet, letting me try his carbonara although I’ve eaten it before. Nothing about tonight feels fake or forced.

  People observe us as we eat and talk, trying to pick apart our relationship. Their eyes burn into us as their not-so-subtle curiosity gets the best of them. It doesn’t bother me, though, not tonight. Tonight, I’m enjoying a meal with a man I actually like. Forget the small fact that everyone thinks we’re a real couple when we’ve lied to them. Well, I lied to them. Harris simply went along for the ride.

  That’s what I tell myself when I begin to feel like this date could mean something more than what it is. Harris is simply keeping his end of the deal, for what reason? I have no idea. There’s nothing in it for him.

  He’s just doing you a favor, I tell myself.

  This will help to create some distance between the man across from me with the captivating eyes and charming smile and my heart.

  “You were right, this chocolate cake is delicious.” I watch as Harris licks the smeared chocolate frosting off his lips.

  “Glad you like it,” I smile, taking my own bite. I wash it down with a sip of wine. No better combination than chocolate and cabernet sauvignon.

  Once my glass is back on the table, Harris reaches across the table and weaves our fingers together. My heart lurches in my chest, and my gasp is barely controlled. I feel heat prickling up my neck. This doesn’t feel like part of our plan.

  “Thanks for agreeing to dinner tonight,” he whispers on a smile.

  I nod, feeling flush. “Of course,” I respond, then clench my jaw.

  Of course? What kind of response is that? He’s the one doing me a favor. I should be thanking him. “Thank you.” My eyes drop to the checkered tablecloth.

  When Harris squeezes my fingers, I look up at him. “I was thinking…” We both turn our heads when someone clears their throat, interrupting whatever he was going to say.

  “Hey,” Harris smiles at Knox, standing over our table. His eyes are focused on our hands with lifted brows, probably as surprised as me to see us holding hands. Harris told me that Knox and Ainsley know about our deal. I can’t blame him, I told Averly.

  I pull my hand away slowly and place it on my lap, pretending I’m fixing my napkin.

  “Hey,” Knox smirks. Before Harris can ask, Knox adds, “Ainsley was craving Italian so came for take-out. She’s drowning in wedding planning stuff, so I figured it was the least I could do,” he chuckles as if imagining his fiancée surrounded by magazines, pictures, maybe even flowers. Who knows? I’m not a wedding planner.

  “She’s convinced she doesn’t need help.” Knox shakes his head.

  “Food will keep her happy,” Harris jokes.

  “You know it.”

  I assume Ainsley likes to eat. You’d never guess by her slender form, but I’m glad I’m not the only woman who enjoys a good meal.

  “I better get our order and head back before the magazine cutouts turn her into a bridezilla.” I hardly doubt Ainsley could be that type of person from the little time I’ve spent with her. She’s been so sweet. “Don’t tell her I said that,” Knox looks between us with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “See ya.”

  I stare at his retreating form, then back at Harris. Whatever he was going to say is swallowed up with the chug of water he just inhaled. And I don’t dare ask, in case he was going to suggest an ending to this plan. I’m taking advantage of this situation, but I’ve never enjoyed spending time with a man as much as with him.

  …

  “Okay, so you’re basically telling me the date was perfect, and this is a problem?” Averly’s eyebrows dip, creating wrinkles between them. She grabs a cheese fry and dips it in ranch dressing while I respond.

  “Exactly,” I shrug, gripping my cup. Isn’t it obvious this is a big problem?

  “I’m not following,” Averly shakes her head as she lifts her gin and tonic.

  I lean forward on my stool and whisper-hiss, “The date was perfect. Harris was perfect. His hand in mine felt perfect, but it’s all fake.”

  “And you like him for real.” Her face shows no emotion, no judgment, nothing to give me an idea of what she’s thinking. Ugh, I hate that she has such a strong poker face.

  “Exactly.” I huff and lean back, running a hand through my hair. I eye the fries and pluck out two at once, grabbing a few bacon bits to place strategically over the fries, so they stick to the cheese.

  “If you ask me,” she pauses and lifts her eyebrows. She loves torturing me.

  I swallow and say, “Yeah?�
�� I wave my hand to rush her.

  “I think he feels the same way.”

  “I doubt it,” I scoff.

  “Why?” She crosses her arms.

  “Because he’s just being nice.”

  “Sorry to break it to you, no guy is that willing to help a woman if he wasn’t remotely interested.”

  I cross my arms to mimic Averly. “Harris is just a nice guy.”

  “With a pulse and a pair of eyes. The way he was looking at you throughout the ball spoke volumes. Trust me, I was observing it from the outside.”

  I sit taller and take a drink of my beer. I wonder what she witnessed that I was oblivious to. Instead, I change the subject.

  “How’s the bed and breakfast coming along?” Averly studied hospitality to fulfill her dream of running her own bed and breakfast one day. That day is coming soon enough. After working her way up to a management position at the resort in town, she’s bought an older farmhouse with plenty of land to expand.

  Averly has been my best friend since we were little girls, and even then, this was her dream. She’s saved every penny she could to make this a reality.

  “Good. A lot of work still ahead of me, but we’re getting started on demo soon and finalizing some changes I wanted to make to the original plans.”

  “Why don’t you look happy?” I squint and turn my head a bit, looking over her face.

  “Because my contractor is a pain in the ass,” she sighs and rolls her eyes.

  “Who is it?”

  “Eli.”

  I giggle. “He’s not that bad.” I shake my head.

  “Try working with him.” Her lips purse.

  “Oh, come on, at least he’s hot to look at,” I joke.

  “His good looks are overshadowed by his dickheadedness.”

  “I don’t think that’s a word.”

  “Says the woman who doesn’t curse.”

  “Whatever.” I shrug, laughing internally. Eli is the total opposite of Averly. I wouldn’t be surprised if hammers are thrown, by Averly with Eli’s head being the target.

  A wicked smile appears on her face. “Your boyfriend just walked in,” she winks.

  “What?” I screech and turn around. Sure enough, Harris is here, along with Knox, Ainsley, Axel, and Lia. I watch him for a second, taking in the jeans that outline the muscles on his thighs, and how his Henley shirt with the scrunched up sleeves fits across his broad chest. I love that he’s physically fit without being overly muscular.