The Fine Art of Faking It

by Lucy Score

  Davis was right. She wasn’t doing herself any favors having a meltdown. She needed to think and plot.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” she said with an abundance of calm that she didn’t feel. “I think I’m going to go freshen up.”

  Head held high, she marched past him to the restroom between the gluten-free treat aisle and the selection of goat milk soaps.

  The ladies restroom was a lovely lavender and silver theme with a mural of the goddess Athena on the wall above the baby changing station. The mirrors over the sinks had inspirational quotes written on them. After a quick foot check under the stall doors, Eden lined herself up with the You Look Beautiful mirror and dialed Sammy.

  “I am losing my damn mind!”

  Sammy yawned mightily. “Huh?”

  “I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “I was up early for horse sonograms,” Sammy yawned again. “What’s up?”

  “No. Forget I called. Go back to sleep.”

  “I’m awake and eating directly out of a carton of Rocky Road. What’s up?”

  “I’m hiding out in the women’s restroom at Farm and Field having a life crisis.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Sammy answered. “Any particular impetus for said life crisis?”

  “I take it you didn’t see The Monthly Moon yet,” Eden said dryly.

  “Hang on. Let me bring it up online.” Eden heard her friend’s fingers on her keyboard.

  “Oh. Well, shit… oh my God. Is that a picture of you two naked?”

  “What?” Eden hissed.

  “Nothing. Forget I said anything. It’s kind of grainy. You’re in the front seat of a car. Wait, I thought you said it was just a fluke.”

  “It was,” Eden insisted. “And so were the next seven times.”

  “Seven? I really need to start dating,” Sammy sighed.

  “Can we focus on my pain and suffering first? I promise we’ll get to your dismal dating life in a second.”

  “Sorry. Focusing. So you’ve fluked eight times, and the town paper has just labeled you an unstable fire bug. Okay, go.”

  “Sammy, I feel like everything is out of control. I’ve worked so hard to build this reputation, to not have people look at me as some irresponsible, arsonist teenager. And one time in bed with Davis, and I’m back to where I started.”

  “Eight times,” Sammy corrected her.

  Eden could hear Sammy’s ice cream spoon hit the sink. All of her years of work, of pushing to be seen as more than just a teenage screw-up, and now she was staring down at her teenage mugshot. The sad little Goth girl with eyeliner running down her face in the tracks of her tears. When she looked in the mirror she saw a woman now, lusting after Davis Gates—a man she could never have—and running off the rails.

  “No one in town takes The Monthly Moon seriously. We’ve all been the target of ‘local vet dates Bigfoot’ headlines. And everyone knows what a smart, kind, amazing business woman and asset to the community you are. So, I’m guessing what you’re really freaking out over is the fact that you can’t stop inviting Davis into your pants.”

  Eden toed the purple tile mural on the floor. “Maybe.”

  “You’ve spent your entire adult life hating the guy, and now everything’s different.”

  “Also, maybe.”

  “Have you considered that perhaps the universe is trying to tell you something about your quests for revenge?” Sammy asked.

  “Quests?”

  “Didn’t you just spend fifteen years holding a grudge against Davis? And are you or are you not currently involved in a plot to foil the Beautification Committee?”

  “Yeah, but they deserve it.”

  “Uh-huh. Don’t get me wrong. You probably couldn’t find a Mooner who wouldn’t agree with you. However, what did this town drum into our heads every day since kindergarten?”

  “Believe in karma and do no harma.” Eden recited. “What are you getting at, Sammy?”

  “What if you’ve spent a decade and a half fighting what you really want?”

  “You think I want Davis?”

  “Um. Duh. You’re Eden Moody. You don’t accidentally sleep with anyone.”

  “Maybe it’s just really good sex. I mean like superhuman amazing sex.”

  “Stop rubbing it in, jerk.”

  “I’m having a life crisis. I can’t be held responsible for the word vomit coming out of my mouth.”

  “Look, babe. If you like Davis, date Davis. Forget the B.C., forget your parents. And, most of all, forget high school. Stop being held hostage by the past.”

  “What if holding grudges is my thing?” Eden asked the question that turned her stomach to acid.

  “What if you have control over what your thing is? What if your thing is Davis’s thing? And by thing, I mean penis.”

  “You’re awfully wise when you’re woken up at 9 p.m. on a Tuesday night.”

  “They all come to the single, Rocky Road-eating vet for knowledge bombs,” Sammy sang.

  “I need to think,” Eden decided. She needed some time, some space, and a lot of brain power.

  “Then get out of the bathroom before someone drops a deuce, and go think.”

  36

  “How would you two like to buy some rice flour cranberry almond orange zinger muffins? Only eight dollars apiece!” Amethyst Oakleigh announced cheerfully from the table in the Farm and Fresh vestibule. She was bundled up in a mint green parka with a rainbow beret and scarf distorting most of her face. Wilson Abramovich sat next to her in a puffy vest and an ivory turtleneck sweater.

  The doors opened, and a rush of cold night air barreled inside followed by a tropical wave of heat from the overhead heaters. They’d missed this little fundraiser when they entered the side door and Davis wished they’d gone out the same way they came in.

  Eden stopped and stared at them. “What are you raising money for?” she asked pleasantly, the death threats in her blue eyes going unheeded. Davis knew that benign tone. It was something to be feared, and those poor B.C. bastards had no idea what hell was about to rain down on them.

  “You know what? We just had rice flour muffins for dinner,” he said, wrapping an arm around Eden’s waist. “We’re going to leave. Right now.”

  Davis steered her toward the exit before she could show the Beautification Committee exactly what they could do with their rice flour muffins.

  She took a deep breath of the crisp winter night. “Thanks for that. Apparently, I have a problem with my temper and holding grudges… and never moving forward from the past.”

  She sounded so forlorn he reached down into the bag and fished out the pack of Sour Patch Kids he remembered her loving in junior high. He handed them over, and she clutched them to her chest like a beloved stuffed animal.

  “I have to know. What were the razors for?” He’d left those on the shelf, but he had purchased the whiskey while she was in the bathroom.

  “I was going to shave that weasel’s eyebrows off if he didn’t print a retraction. I could easily give him a real reason to think I’m unhinged,” she seethed.

  “Uh-huh.” Davis tucked her into the passenger seat of his SUV and crossed around to the driver’s side. “How about the whiskey?” he asked, settling in behind the wheel.

  “Just thirsty,” she pouted.

  He started the engine and looked at her. “We’re a team, right?”

  She shrugged, ripping open the candy and shoveling a handful into her mouth. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Then let’s handle this as a team.”

  “You want to shave one eyebrow while I get the other?” she asked him hopefully.

  “I have an even better idea.”

  “Better than shaving Anthony ‘Weasel Face’ Berkowicz’s eyebrows?” she challenged.

  “Don’t open the whiskey, yet. We have a couple of stops to make.”

  “Why are we parked in front of my aunt’s house?” Eden asked, peering out the window at the tidy electric blue ranch house. Garden gnomes were o
rganized in a semicircle around the front porch.

  Davis pointed toward the house where a window opened and a pair of denim clad legs appeared. The legs slid out of the window followed by a torso and a lot of straight blonde hair.

  “Moon Beam?”

  The blonde slunk around the gnomes, skirted a large rhododendron, and then opened the back door to Davis’s SUV.

  “You guys didn’t have sex back here recently, did you?” Moon Beam asked, gingerly sliding over the seat.

  They had two nights ago, but Davis didn’t see any reason to share that knowledge with Moon Beam.

  “Why are we picking up my cousin?” Eden demanded.

  “We’re going to pay Weasel Face a visit,” Davis announced. “And what are we leaving in the car?”

  “Cigarettes and anything else flammable,” Moon Beam recited, popping a tube of lipstick out of her skin-tight jeans and leaning between the seats to apply it in the rearview mirror.

  “Why were you climbing out of your mom’s window?” Eden asked her cousin.

  Moon Beam rolled her eyes dramatically. “Mom’s on this ‘you need to act like an adult’ kick. Gag. Anyway, she got me this part-time job at the Snip Shack. Reception, hair sweeping. And I have to be there early tomorrow, so I’m supposed to be in bed like a loser.”

  “What has he dragged you into?” Eden asked.

  “Something that I should have dragged myself into years ago. Mind if I smoke?” she asked.

  “Kind of,” Davis told her.

  “Yeah,” Eden said.

  “Ugh. Fine. I’ll wait.”

  Eden peered out her window. “Where are we going?”

  Davis pulled onto Main Street and whipped his SUV into a parking space in front of the police station. “Here.”

  “I’m not talking to the police,” Eden announced, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Not there.” Davis rolled his eyes. “There.” He pointed up to where lights were blazing on the second floor. The offices of The Monthly Moon.

  “Why didn’t you let me buy the razors?” Eden asked, gleefully hopping out of the car.

  “Because we don’t need to shave his eyebrows. Ladies, if you’ll follow me.” Davis led them inside and up the brightly lit stairwell that smelled vaguely of stale coffee and old carpet. On the second floor, he paused outside the glass door labeled The Monthly Moon Where Blue Moon News Breaks First Once a Month. The tagline took up the entire door. “The plan is you let me do the talking until it’s Moon Beam’s turn to talk,” he said to Eden. “Got it? No screaming or punching or shaving. And no setting anything on fire.”

  Eden and Moon Beam nodded solemnly, and he was instantly suspicious.

  Davis tried the door and found it locked. He buzzed the button next to the door.

  “Monthly Moon. Everything you ever wanted to know about your neighbors,” a voice crackled over the speaker.

  “It’s Davis Gates. Let us in, Anthony,” Davis said.

  “I’m sorry. Do you have an appointment? Mr. Berkowicz is very busy. He is our editor-in-chief, you know. News is constantly breaking. You can’t expect to just walk in all willy-nilly and get some face time with him.”

  Moon Beam pressed her face up against the intercom. “Hey, how do you walk willy-nilly?”

  Davis gave her a helpful shove away from the speaker. “Anthony, I know this is you. Open the damn door. We have a scoop for you.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  A buzzer sounded, and Davis opened the door before Anthony had second thoughts. The newspaper office had fudge brown carpet and industrial gray walls that were papered with what looked like the front page of every issue of The Monthly Moon. Overflowing filing cabinets took up one whole wall with a bank of windows overlooking Main Street on another.

  Anthony Berkowicz, esteemed editor-in-chief and son to town fixtures Rainbow and Gordon Berkowicz, was wearing pajama pants and eating ramen noodles with his slippered feet propped up on his desk. Empty bottles of Diet Sprite and YooHoo crowded the surface.

  He wore gamer headphones slung around his skinny neck. Davis heard a crinkle and saw Eden stress eat the rest of her pack of candy.

  “Do you live here?” Moon Beam asked, eyeing the six cartons of Chinese takeout in and around the trashcan.

  “I’m a newspaper man. I live with the news. So, what’s the scoop?” Anthony demanded. “I start working on next month’s issue in three days so we need to move fast.”

  “Good because you’re going to need the entire issue for the retraction I’m demanding,” Eden said through clenched teeth.

  “Sexy news sells, sweetie pie.”

  Someone was about to die. Davis decided it might as well be him and stepped between Anthony and Eden. “What did you just call my girlfriend?” he said, pretending to snarl.

  Anthony’s feet hit the floor. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, sir… I mean, ma’am.”

  “Look,” Davis began. “We’re here about the exposé you printed about us.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Anthony grinned. “That was some of my finest work.”

  “It was also five pages of lies,” Eden snapped.

  Anthony shrugged his bony shoulders. “Listen, journalism is all about attracting advertisers. I can’t land Farm and Field or the bank with boring news.”

  “Your mother is the bank president,” Eden pointed out.

  Anthony’s gasp nearly knocked him out of his chair. “I’m shocked that you’d insinuate my family would practice nepotism!”

  Moon Beam, who had cigarettes to smoke, stepped in. “Look. Eden didn’t set the Gates’ yard on fire, dumbass. And she sure as hell didn’t burn down his kitchen.”

  Anthony held up his hands. “Look, it’s not my job to investigate—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Davis grabbed a notebook off the top of a counter buckling under the weight of yellowed newspaper. He slapped it down in front of Anthony and fished a pen out from under a half-dozen candy bar wrappers. “Shut your mouth and open your ears. Moon Beam? Talk.”

  “This isn’t how my process works,” Anthony whined. “First I need to formulate questions. Then I need to record the interview. Then I need to—”

  Davis growled in Anthony’s face.

  “Or, I could just try this way,” Anthony said, picking up the pen.

  37

  Feeling restless, Eden knocked on Davis’s door after they’d returned to the inn from setting the record straight with The Monthly Moon. But his room was empty.

  She tip-toed into the lobby and checked the security monitors. His car was still in the inn’s small lot. But Chewy was conspicuously missing from Eden’s couch, and she had a feeling the two were together. She drummed her fingers on the desk.

  She was restless after the rollercoaster of the evening and had hoped some naked fun would help her shake the feeling. She was going to have to stop calling them flukes, she supposed.

  The entire town would finally know the truth of what happened all those years ago. And Davis Gates was the one who’d stood up for her.

  She didn’t want to analyze the warm feeling in her stomach. She wanted to go about her life without the drama and chaos of the past few weeks. But did that mean she wanted to go back to her pre-Davis life?

  Wandering back into her quarters, Eden trailed a finger over the back of her sofa. She loved her rooms. Her own private oasis. The cozy living room with its white-washed trim and gold walls was decorated with off-white furniture and framed family photos. Tall windows offered a view of the acre of green lawn behind the inn. If business continued this very nice upswing, she’d be able to up the landscapers and yard crew to once a week and save herself a few hours of lawn mowing two or three times a month.

  She paced into her bedroom. Here were more ivories and beiges. Serene and simple. Thick bedding, luxurious window coverings, and a cozy seating area tucked into a nook of windows that looked toward the winery, a view she’d shunned until recently. There was a
tiny utility room that doubled as kitchenette and laundry room for when she didn’t feel like using the inn’s facilities.

  Her tour complete, Eden returned to the living room. She’d loved this house. Had spent hours here whenever her aunt was in residence. And when she’d been forced to take an elective in college her sophomore year and landed in Hospitality 101, it had all come together. Bring the old home back to life and share the town she so loved with an endless stream of visitors.

  She’d built this business from the hardwood floors up. Usually the thought satisfied her. But tonight she was still restless. Still distracted. She debated, looking at the stack of paperbacks on her side table. She could sit and read until she was tired. Her pleasure reading had taken a backseat in recent weeks. Hell, maybe even months. The inn had never had a busier off-season. It was time to think about hiring more part-time help.

  And now, her free time was spent juggling HeHa organizational challenges. And with Davis… well, that was a whole new level of distraction.

  Dammit. She’d thought of him again. That settled it. She’d just send him a casual text.

  Eden: Have you been dognapped?

  Relief loosened her when she saw the dots on her screen.

  Davis: Just checking the vines. Pruning starts next week. Chewy’s with me.

  She bit her lip. Debated.

  Eden: Want some company? Of the human lady kind?

  Davis: Meet me in the vines out front. Dress warm.

  The vineyard was in all its frosty majesty under the nearly full moon. Eden picked her way down rows of silver vines, the frozen ground refusing to yield beneath her feet. She could hear him, that quiet, steady tone and knew he was talking to Chewy. She’d invited Vader. But the dog was smarter than the rest of them, choosing the comfort and warmth of bed.

  “Try not to piss on every single vine, Chew.”

  Eden smiled and shifted the bag in her hand when Davis’s form came into view. “Marco.”