Pretend You're Mine

by Francisco, Fabiola

  “I guess, in a way, I should thank her.” Poppy surprises me.

  She laughs at my raised eyebrows and explains. “Had she not confronted me in the bathroom, I wouldn’t have kissed you, and we wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “I like your logic. Although, I should’ve told you last night what I was feeling. What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Relaxing.” She sighs and leans her head back a bit, exposing the slope of her neck.

  “Want to help me pick out a pair of boots?”

  She jumps in her seat and breaks into a huge smile. “Yes,” she exclaims.

  “Great. I can pick you up in the morning, and we can grab breakfast at Cup-O-Joe before we go.”

  “Sounds perfect.” Poppy sways forward, finally landing her lips on mine, her hands on my thighs. I grip her knee as my tongue peeks out and touches the tip of hers in a soft kiss, appropriate enough for being in public, unlike our earlier kiss. I don’t want to give anyone reason to disrespect her again.

  I’m starting to understand how people in this town work, and I’ll do whatever it takes to deflect any rumors or gossip related to Poppy. She may be the current favorite topic of the gossipers due to her sudden dating life, but they’ll soon see we’re nothing more than a normal couple. They’ll get tired of seeing us drinking coffee and having dinner.

  She may not have been part of my plan when I moved here, but there’s no way I’m going to turn her away. I haven’t had a serious girlfriend in a few years, always traveling and working. A few dates here and there never led to anything serious.

  Usually, they were too superficial, wanted industry gossip, or my personal favorite: the women who asked me on a date and offered to sleep with me if I managed their music career. A personal payment plan, so to speak. I’ve got higher ethics than that, and I never mix business with pleasure.

  We finish our beers, and I hold Poppy’s hand, walking her out to her car. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I cage her with my body against the car door, each hand on either side of her body. I move a hand to brush her hair away from her face, and I lean forward and brush our lips together. She grips my waist as she breathes me in.

  “Yeah,” she sighs and looks up at me from beneath her lashes.

  When I cradle her face, she leans into my touch. “You’re beautiful.” I kiss the corner of her mouth.

  “Thank you,” she smiles up at me. I drop one more kiss on her lips.

  “I’ll pick you up,” I remind her.

  “Goodnight, Harris.”

  “Night, Poppy.” I take a step back and let her get into her car. Once she drives away, I get in my car and lean into the leather seats. Closing my eyes for a second, I relive holding Poppy in my arms, her body rubbing against mine in a way that proved we’d fit perfectly without the barrier of clothing. Excited for the promise tomorrow brings, I head home.

  Poppy

  “What about these?” I holler at Harris down the long aisle of boots. I wave the brown boot in my hand and dance in place. In a few long strides, Harris reaches me with a warm smile.

  “Let me see them.” He holds his hand out, so I hand him the boot. He inspects it like a secret agent analyzing a clue. Up close, the toe, the sole. He turns it around to see all angles and sides.

  Tearing the boot away from him, I hide it behind my back. “I know you think you’re some cool Inspector Gadget, but they’re boots. You either like them, or you don’t. They either fit or don’t. Stop with the uber scrutinizing.” We’ve been browsing the same store for an hour. They say women are picky shoppers.

  “Did you just steal my boot?”

  I grip the leather shoe behind my back. “Not yours ’til you buy it, and first, you need to make a decision.”

  “I’m glad I fed you before we came. I can’t imagine how grouchy you’d be without food and caffeine.”

  “Ha, ha. You’re worse than a girl,” my eyes widen.

  “I think those might be it.” He uses his chin to point in my direction.

  “Are you sure?” I narrow my eyes.

  His lips twitch. “Yeah. If you let me take a look.”

  “You won’t stare at each stitching, or sniff each side to make sure it’s all real leather?”

  “Funny,” he deadpans. “I want to make sure I buy the best.”

  “I promise you that any pair of boots you buy here will be the best. You think any of these ranchers would keep a place like this in business if the quality was terrible?” I lift my brows.

  “You’re right.” His shoulders drop a bit, and he reaches his hand out again.

  I concede, handing the boot over. “Whoa.” Harris pulls me by the arm, his other hand swinging around my waist, and he holds me to him.

  “Hi.” He’s such a dork.

  “Hey,” I reply, a stupid smile on my face.

  Guess I’m a dork with him. When he kisses me, I melt. Unfortunately, the kiss is quick and innocent. I sigh and look into his eyes with a dreamy gaze. Harris chuckles, breaking the spell.

  “You make me all starry-eyed, too,” he teases and takes the shoe from me. With a less-thorough inspection, he tries it on while I find the other boot still on the rack.

  “What do you think?” Harris stands and lets his jeans fall over the boots, hiding the eight-stitch design on the shaft. The square toes peek out from underneath his jeans as he takes a few steps around.

  “Are they comfortable?” I ask.

  “They are.”

  “I think they look great.” My eyes are trained on his feet.

  “Are you just saying that because you’re tired of me looking at each and every pair possible?”

  “Nah,” I shake my head. “I really like these.”

  His hands find my hips, and he grins. “We can’t let you be the only woman in town whose boyfriend doesn’t own a pair of cowboy boots. I feel like that’s a sin in a place like Everton.”

  Boyfriend. My stomach flips, and my arms and chest heat. There he goes using that word again but for real this time.

  After last night, I’ve been in a dreamy state. Jessica pushed me, but she didn’t realize her plan to bring me down actually made my life a million times better. When Harris told me he wanted to date, I was surprised. I had convinced myself he was only doing me a favor, but between last night and this morning, he’s proven to me that he meant what he said.

  “You’re right.” I shake my head and flatten my lips. “The mayor’s daughter cannot date a man who isn’t up to par with his footwear.”

  “I’m going to have to buy every pair in my size if that’s the case. No way I’m lettin’ her go.”

  There go the butterflies again. He says the last part in a whisper, his fingers tightening on my hips.

  “We’ll start with the one pair,” I say almost against his lips before brushing them with mine.

  He winks and sits on the bench to take off the boots. When he’s done, he laces our fingers on the way to the register to pay, holding the pair with his other hand.

  I study his profile—the easy smile brushed on his lips, the scruff framing his face, that sexy jaw, his straight nose, all of it a perfect combination that makes up the handsome man beside me.

  “Hi, Poppy.” Maggie, the cashier, says as she eyes Harris. She’s about ten years older than me but loves to spend time with the younger crowd. Thinks she’s still in her thirties. “I heard you had a boyfriend, but I didn’t believe it myself. Gosh, you’ve never dated anyone in this town, am I right? Some of us thought you’d die a spinster,” she lowers her voice and leans over the counter.

  I’m not sure why she’s stage-whispering while telling me to my face what she and the rest of the town think of me.

  Unfortunately, she continues talking. “I mean, that’s okay for some people, ya know? But you’re such a pretty girl. Be a shame for your good looks to go to waste without a husband by your side.”

  I wish she’d stop talking. Harris is right there, listening to every word. Also, my good looks go to was
te? I fight my eye-roll and lift my brows as if rushing her to do her job.

  “Well, sorry to disappoint the Everton club that’s set on taking notes about Poppy’s love life, but she’s taken. By me,” he points out, and I almost have to laugh at his unnecessarily obvious comment. Then again, people in Everton usually need things spelled out for them. “And she’s definitely more than her good looks. I’ll agree with you, she’s beautiful, gorgeous, but she’s got a lot more to offer me than that pretty face.”

  I’m pretty sure I’ve turned into ice cream and melted on the floor by his words.

  “Oh, he’s a keeper,” Maggie nods, appraising him, and winks at me. She means well, but like so many others in town, they aren’t even aware of how their gossip affects people, or that they’re even gossiping in the first place.

  “Thanks,” I tell Maggie and head out.

  “Wow.” Harris runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “I love the charm of this town, but people here also live on a whole different level. It’s as if she had no idea she was insulting you.”

  “Trust me, she doesn’t. Small town living: you either love it or leave.” I smile and tilt my head. “Where to now?”

  For someone who’s never lived in a small town like Everton, the shock of people’s honesty could take a bit to get over. For a local, we’re used to it and have even had our own share of comments thrown at people.

  “You tell me. I’m all yours.” Harris opens his arms wide, the bag with his boots swinging on his forearm.

  “What part of Everton have you not had a chance to see yet?” I go through a mental list of places.

  “Hardly any of it. With our long hours at work, besides Clarke’s and the basic shops, I haven’t really seen much.”

  “That’s unacceptable,” I shake my head. “Just call me Miss Tour Guide for the day.” I tip a pretend hat.

  “Sexy tour guide,” Harris’s eyebrows dance on his forehead.

  Laughing, I shake my head and grab his hand. “Let’s go.” I drag him down the sidewalk, pointing out the different local shops, which he seems to be familiar with.

  Before we reach a small square with a gazebo, Harris points to a statue. “Who’s that?”

  “Patience. Let me do my tour in order.” I hold a hand out, taking my job very seriously.

  “This here,” I wave my arm out, my hand in the direction of the square. “This is Morgan Square. The gazebo was built in the early 1900s and restored in the 80s. The man you’re so curious about,” I tease, “is Richard Morgan, Everton’s founder. He settled here in the late 1800s and built a small town out of the land.”

  “Why did he name it Everton instead of like, Morganville?” Harris cocks his head.

  “Very good question,” I smile. “Everton was his wife’s maiden name. His one true love. Therefore, he wanted to honor her heritage that way.”

  I also love sharing this story. When I was a little girl, I’d beg my parents to recite it until it was tattooed in my mind and I’d daydream about it.

  “That’s sweet.”

  “So sweet,” I sigh. “Anyway, they never had children, so his family name wasn’t carried on by any offsprings. Because of this, they built the square in his honor after he passed, per his wife’s supervision.”

  “So much history.” Harris looks around, eyes taking in every detail.

  “Yeah.” I follow his gaze, wondering how this looks to someone who’s never seen it before, looking at Everton and its history for the first time.

  Harris leads us now, holding my hand, and walks up the few steps to the gazebo. The white pillars supporting its hexagon shape are wooden, just like the ceiling. An ornate, metal railing encloses the area. Benches are placed against the railing for people to come and sit. When there are events in town, my dad gives a speech up here, with the town surrounding the space around the square and beyond.

  It’s simply beautiful. Trees and flowers adorn the garden around the space. I used to sit here when I was younger and think, read, or play.

  “During Christmas time, they decorate it with lights and a Christmas tree. It looks beautiful at night, especially with all the snow,” I explain.

  “I can picture it.”

  “Come on,” I drag him down the steps. “You have to take a picture with Richard Morgan. It’s kind of a rite of passage.”

  Harris chuckles but doesn’t argue. “Well, I can’t say no to that. Shall I put on my boots?” He winks.

  “Definitely.” I nod and fish my phone out of my purse. Harris sits on the steps, removing his sneakers and replacing them with his new boots. When he’s ready, he stands next to the statue.

  I snap a couple of photos, and he moves as if to shake the statue’s hand, but his hands are in his pocket so Harris looks ridiculous. I take a picture anyway.

  “Hope you’re getting full-body pictures so you can see my boots.”

  I giggle when he lifts his pants legs to show off his new footwear. I snap one last picture and smile.

  “There you go.”

  Harris walks toward me, not slowing down until he’s practically on me.

  “Thank you,” he says against my lips before sealing his with mine in a slow, lazy kiss.

  My arms go around his neck, my phone almost slipping from my hands. I kiss him back, tongue sneaking into his mouth so it can dance with his. Unlike last night’s kiss that was desperate and chaotic, this one is slow and sensual. My nipples harden, and when they brush against his chest, I moan and squeeze my core.

  “Poppy.” My name is a husky groan coming from his mouth.

  “Come on.” I take a step back. Harris picks up his bag from the steps, keeping the boots on, and allows me to lead us to our next destination.

  “Best tour guide I’ve ever had,” he says with a squeeze of my fingers.

  I pretend to grab the sides of a skirt and curtsy. “I’m here whenever you need a tour. Definitely my favorite tourist.” I wink.

  We continue walking around Everton, showing him all the different places, including some of my favorites.

  “Then, of course, we have Grand Teton Park outside of town, which is a must-visit. I love it, especially seeing it during the different seasons.”

  “I went once with Knox when we stopped here a couple years ago while he was on tour. I’d love to go back.”

  “It’s worth it. The hiking trails are amazing, and you can usually catch some animals while there.”

  “We’ll have to go one day.” He gives me that crooked grin that turns me into mush.

  I stop walking, eyes lighting up. “And that there,” I point to an entrance, “is the apple orchard. Now in fall, everyone comes apple picking.”

  “That sounds like fun. Never done it.”

  “What?” I screech and stare at him wide-eyed.

  Harris shrugs. “I’m sure Nashville has something like this, but I’ve never gone.”

  I shake my head in disbelief and drag him through the arched entryway. “We have to pop your apple picking cherry right now.”

  Harris chortles while I wave at Wendy in the entrance and pull him toward the trees. On the way, I grabbed a plastic basket.

  “Okay,” I look around at all the trees, most full of red apples. The trees are lined, creating different aisles for people to walk by. “So now, we just pick apples from the trees.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yup. You pick as many as you want to buy, and they’ll weigh them and package them.”

  “Great, show me how to pick the good ones.”

  We walk down along the trees, taking our time to look at all the apples and picking the ripest. Harris reaches for apples, dropping them in the basket he now holds.

  “How many times have you done this?” he asks as he plucks another one.

  “I’ve lost count. Every fall since I could walk, I’ve been coming to pick apples.”

  “Wow.” His eyebrows pop up. “I’m sure growing up here was fun.”

  “It was. I love
that I’m from a small town, even if people are all up in your business. There’s something about growing up here, the activities and sense of community that you don’t find everywhere.” We’ve stopped walking, and I look into Harris’s eyes as they watch me. I suddenly feel self-conscious. He’s witnessing everything about me, and I’m willingly giving him the opportunity to do so.

  It’s been so long since I’ve been in a relationship, or even dated, that being this vulnerable with a man feels odd. I like Harris, and I want him to get to know me. It’s just been a while. Who am I kidding? It’s been years. I might as well be a born-again virgin at the pace I’m going.

  But casual sex was never my thing, and well, the men in Everton are a hard no. I’m not going to go on a date, let alone sleep with one of them just so they can win a pile of cash off a rolling bet to feed their ego.

  Shaking those insignificant thoughts away, I look at the basket. “I think we have a good amount picked.” I hold the bag carrying his sneakers and stare at the basket.

  “Yup, I’d say it weighs a good five pounds.” He bounces the basket lightly, estimating its weight.

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head. Taking a careful look, I say, “I’m thinking it’s over six pounds.”

  “Over?” He sounds incredulous.

  “Yup.” I take the basket from him and hold it in my hand, bouncing it a bit like he did. I mentally compare it to one of my five-pound dumbbells collecting dust in my closet. “I’d even dare say it weighs closer to seven pounds.”

  “No way.”

  “Want to wager?” I arch an eyebrow and smirk.

  “What do you have in mind?” He steps closer into my personal space.

  “If I’m right, we go to eat pizza, ‘cause I’m starving.” I’ve been craving Howdy’s Pizza since Lia mentioned it last night.

  Harris laughs at my end of the deal. “And if I’m right, you go out with me again tomorrow.” I almost ask him if we’d still go out if he’s wrong, but I bite my tongue. He said last night he wanted more dates with me, a second and a third and more.