Fakers

by Meg Collett

  “I’m…” He cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry for earlier today.”

  His apology was so forced and reluctant that Kyra had to laugh, which only made his jaw clench. “You mean when you almost killed me?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah.”

  “I accept your terrible apology, but watch where you’re going next time.”

  “Keep your eyes open next time,” Hale snapped back. “Who the hell rides a bike with their eyes closed?”

  “Who the hell cusses out the person they almost ran over right after the accident? Did you ever think an ‘are you okay’ or maybe ‘can I help you’ would’ve been a lot nicer than calling me freaking crazy?”

  “I didn’t mean you were crazy. What you were doing was crazy,” he said, glowering.

  “You’re right. That makes perfect sense. Thanks for clarifying.” Her grip tightened on the doorknob. “You know, you’re proving all these people right.”

  She tried to slam the door closed, but he stuck his boot out. “What does that mean?” he growled.

  “All these people who think you’re an asshole.” She made a face. “You give them good reason to.”

  His eyes narrowed slowly, his nostrils flaring in quiet rage. Before he could respond, she tried to close the door, but he stopped her once more. “Oh, really? And what about you? Parading around with that cheesy-ass smile plastered to your face? You’re so fake that I’m embarrassed for you.”

  She recoiled like he’d slapped her. “I’m fake?” she sputtered. “Really? Wow. Well, have you ever thought maybe it’s better to pretend to be happy and maybe believe it sometimes than act like the biggest dick in the world and make people uncomfortable in their own homes?”

  “That’s what you think?”

  “That’s what I know.” Kyra kicked his shin so hard that he stumbled backwards. Taking the opportunity, she slammed her door shut and locked it for good measure.

  After a run-in with her grandmother, getting knocked off her bike, and an argument with Hale, this day hadn’t turned out so well. She hated confrontations; she’d rather just try and get along with people. Sure, that meant she pretended to like some people more than she did, but didn’t everybody? That didn’t make her fake. That made her a person, but his comment bothered her more than she thought it would.

  She worked off the tension by answering more emails and being extra productive. It was childish, but she waited until Hale and his crew had left for the day before she opened her bedroom door and went downstairs.

  She found a note taped to the bottom of the stair’s banister.

  Kyra,

  I’m sorry for being such a dick. I didn’t mean to call you fake. I really am sorry for almost killing you today. I’ll do better tomorrow.

  Hale

  P.S. We cut the water off before we left. Plumbing check tomorrow.

  Kyra stared at the note for a moment without knowing what to think. She appreciated the apology, and she should offer forgiveness. But she was still pretty riled up. She stalked through her house for a while, feeling like she was stuck in a warzone. The walls were mostly open, exposing all the plumbing and electrical wires. Huge drop cloths covered the floors. Her kitchen was a bare scab of ripped-apart walls and extra lumber. The downstairs bathroom was the only shower she had in the house for now, and it wasn’t even close to being in working condition.

  Kyra took the note with her as she went back upstairs. She sat it carefully beside her laptop, weighing it down with a pretty starfish. She stripped down and went into the bathroom. Standing above the bath nozzle and futilely spinning the knob, she finally remembered Hale had said the water was shut off.

  “A warning would’ve been nice,” she grumbled.

  She stepped out of the shower and squirted herself with body spray. She tried to fix her hair before she dressed, but it was a hopeless mess. Giving up, she wrapped it up in a messy topknot, and she didn’t even bother with makeup before she made her way over to Stevie’s.

  Stevie answered the door with a glass of wine after Kyra knocked. “You look like I feel.”

  She grimaced. “My water’s turned off and this day has been one from Hades. How was your trip?”

  Stevie wrinkled her noise. “Let’s put it this way: People annoy me, and I was surrounded by them.”

  Kyra laughed and followed Stevie inside. She led them to the back porch again, where a chilled pitcher of green tea and a fresh glass awaited Kyra. An assortment of takeout menus were spread across the table.

  “The old birds across the street have already called about your fit out in the road today.” Stevie took a sip of her wine, staring at Kyra with raised brows over the rim of her glass.

  “My fit?”

  Stevie shrugged. “You did throw cookies at the man.”

  “Ugh.” Kyra rubbed her temples. She’d almost forgotten about throwing cookies. “This has been an awful day.”

  Stevie nodded knowingly. “Almost getting creamed by a truck will do that.” When Kyra didn’t respond, she said, “Uh-oh. What else?”

  “Well…” Kyra said. “I ran into my grandmother today at Maggie’s Bakery. That didn’t go too well. And then I had another fight with Hale when he tried to apologize.”

  “Oh!” Stevie leaned forward in her seat. “Did he throw you down on the bed and kiss you until you apologized for almost making him kill you?”

  Kyra snorted with laughter. “Not even close. He called me fake.”

  Stevie pursed her lips, the amusement fading from her eyes. “Now that pisses me off.”

  Kyra shrugged. “I guess he’s kind of right, but he apologized. He left me this note.” She pulled the note from her pocket and handed it to Stevie. She watched as her friend quickly read it.

  “Hmm…”

  “What does that mean?” she asked, frowning.

  “It means I don’t remember him leaving a note for poor Mrs. Campbell when he told her he didn’t have a magic trick for ridding her carpets of cat piss, but that she could try a litter box.”

  Kyra’s mouth dropped open. “He said that?”

  “Oh, yeah. She was fit to be tied for months afterwards.”

  “Are you trying to tell me he likes me?” she asked, her tone sarcastic, but she felt the slightest twinge of excitement, which was completely crazy.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Nearly committing vehicular homicide might’ve rattled some good manners into him.”

  “It didn’t rattle hard enough,” Kyra said under her breath.

  Stevie laughed. “Enough about Hale Cooper. Men are stupid. Let’s order burgers.”

  “I’m vegan,” Kyra said.

  “Bless you.” Stevie picked up a barbecue menu.

  “No, I’m vegan,” Kyra repeated, grinning. “How about a veggie pizza?”

  Stevie was quiet for a long moment, studying her carefully. “As in vegetables?”

  “As in vegetables,” Kyra confirmed.

  “Dear God.”

  six

  Kyra didn’t know what to expect the next morning with Hale; the note had said he would try harder today. Kyra groaned and sat up in bed. What was she doing? Her first thought this morning had been about Hale Cooper.

  “Really, Kyra? Really?”

  She swung her legs over her bed, scowling at her bedraggled reflection in the chevron-painted mirror propped on the floor.

  “Get it together.”

  To punish herself, she threw her hair up in a ponytail and grabbed her running gear. She was out the door in five minutes, taking off down the beach in her bare feet. She set a grueling pace right from the start with her legs churning over the sand. Her hair bounced against her back as the rising sun began to warm her skin.

  She ran for an hour just because she could. By the time she got back to the house, she was grinning and sweating like crazy. She’d thought of the run as punishment, but it’d been just what she needed. Her mind was clear and free of Hale Cooper.

  Except the freedo
m didn’t last long, because he stood on her back porch, watching her walk up the garden’s path. He had a thermos in his hand and a grumpy look on his face. “You run too?”

  She climbed the porch steps and cocked her head at him. “Well, yeah. You don’t?”

  “Uh, no. Running sucks,” he said. He stuck the paper thermos out at her. “Here.”

  Kyra took the cup, her eyebrow arching. “What’s this?”

  Hale cleared his throat. “I thought you might like some coffee this morning. I didn’t know what you like, so I got you what I normally get.”

  She took a sip, her eyes widening as the coffee hit her tongue. It was a wonderful blend that tasted amazing. She’d never had coffee so good. “Holy cow! Where did you get this?”

  He seemed slightly surprised that she liked it, but one side of his mouth quirked into a grin. It was the closest to a smile she’d ever gotten from him, and it made her beam with happiness. That flutter from last night was back, and annoyingly enough, she realized she wanted him to like her, to approve of her. “There’s a coffee shop called Sweet Roasts in town. They have the best coffee. It’s, uh, organic or whatever.”

  “Even better!” She took another sip, savoring the aroma. “This is just what I needed this morning. I really appreciate this, Hale.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets like he was suddenly uncomfortable. His eyes scanned the length of her body, landing on the scabby remains of her accident yesterday. She felt exposed in her spandex shorts and tank top with him looking at her. Never before had a man made her feel so vulnerable under his gaze.

  She kind of liked it.

  He brought his eyes back up, and Kyra sensed him linger at her exceptionally short shorts. He seemed to shake himself out of whatever he was thinking and forced his eyes back up to hers. He cupped the back of his neck with his hand. “Look, I really do feel bad about yesterday. I know I can be kind of…”

  “A douche?” she volunteered.

  He cocked a brow, which did tantalizing things to his dermal piercing. “Sure. All I’m saying is that I’m sorry. Maybe we can start over or something.”

  Kyra grinned. “I would like that.”

  “Okay. Well, good.” Hale shuffled his feet as if he was extremely uncomfortable, which she liked; it felt good to make him nervous for once. “Well, your water will be back on tomorrow.”

  Kyra smacked her forehead. “Oh, man. I totally forgot. And I’m all stinky and gross.” She sniffed her pit, confirming her fears. She needed a shower.

  She looked back at Hale just in time to see his eyes widen at her. He shook his head, this time smiling completely. It was a beautiful, shy kind of smile that completely changed his hard face. It softened his piercings and tattoos, instantly warming him up, and she found herself leaning toward him.

  “You’re not that gross,” he said before he turned and left, which made her laugh. She watched him go back inside her house, thinking this was the kind of Hale that she could like.

  Since she didn’t have to bother with a bath this morning, she turned back and went to the beach. She settled in the sand to watch the waves as she drank her delicious coffee. All in all, it was turning out to be a good morning.

  When she’d finished her cup, Kyra rose and went back inside. The sound of construction was already at a deafening level. From somewhere in the front of the house, she heard the strains of Hale’s angry rock music. She waved at Chevy and the crew as she headed for the stairs, and they all waved back, following Chevy’s lead and calling out greetings, which made her smile again.

  When she was inside her room, she changed her clothes and stared at her hair in the mirror. Hale had been kind; she was gross. Between surfing yesterday and running this morning, she looked awful, but it gave her a great idea for a video on styling dirty hair.

  She closed her bedroom door and set up her video equipment. It took her longer than normal because she had to find the right lightning and adjust her lamps. Finally, she settled down in front of the computer and started recording.

  It took her most of the morning. It wouldn’t be a perfect video, because the construction noise would make for awful background music, but her viewers would understand. Besides, she thought the video had turned out to be pretty funny.

  After she’d answered more emails and caught up on her social media sites, it was well past noon and the construction sounds had disappeared. Kyra grabbed a banana from her stash of groceries and headed out of her room to stretch her legs.

  The house felt empty without all the men inside, but she took the opportunity to walk the rooms and admire the house’s old beauty. She started upstairs, weaving her way through the bedrooms, none of which would need as much work as downstairs. When she reached the room in the front of the house, she paused. A huge bay window looked out onto the street. It was painted in a warm yellow—bright and happy. She smiled just being inside it.

  She settled on the window seat and chewed her banana. For once, she was the nosy neighbor watching from her windows. She snickered at the thought of the old women on the street catching her throwing cookies at Hale. Today the street was pretty quiet. Mrs. Harrison pruned her shrubs, which reminded Kyra she needed to start work on her own garden.

  “Maybe today,” she murmured to herself.

  She was about to leave when Hale’s black lifted Dodge parked appeared in front of her house. Kyra watched as Hale started toward the house, letting herself appreciate his good looks and taking her time to soak him in. His muscles were out of this world. No matter what he said about running, he took care of his body. His tattoos were carefully done, most in black and gray. He looked like a hard guy, and Kyra would never appreciate his awful attitude toward her in the beginning, but she started to think that Cade might possibly have been right about his brother just being harder to understand than most. Sure, they’d gotten off to a rough start this week, but he’d made the effort today. She could appreciate that.

  Heat spread across the back of her neck, and she felt a tingle deep in her belly. She didn’t know why, but she was developing a crush on Hale. Maybe it was because he always spoke his mind or the way he didn’t let Mrs. Harrison or Mrs. Walker run over her. He was so different from her, and she liked it.

  She sighed and rose from the seat, taking her banana peel with her. As she stood, the cushion she’d been sitting on rattled. Turning, Kyra pulled up the cushion, which she discovered was actually a lid.

  Surprised, she adjusted her grip and sank down onto her knees to look inside. To her delight, it was filled with old photo albums and books. She began sorting through them after she propped open the lid. The books were dusty and she sneezed a lot, but Kyra eventually had the contents spread out onto the floor.

  She sat cross-legged on the floor and reached for the first photo book. She opened the creaking stiff binding and stared at the first picture, her breath catching in her throat. It was her grandmother and mother, standing together in front of this very house.

  Her mother was a little girl, fresh faced and smiling, with one of her front teeth missing. Even Florence looked happy, her face much younger and sweeter, without the contemptuous look she had now. Below the picture, in careful script, read “Florence & Lila.”

  Kyra struggled to breathe. It was possible all these books contained the life of her mother, or at least tidbits into her past. She knew nothing about her mother, Lila. Even her aunt and uncle hadn’t told her much about her, but she knew her mother had a privileged youth. She and Thomas grew up in big houses and private schools. Thomas had been a typical older brother: aloof but protective. When rumors started circulating that his little sister was dabbling in drugs and boys, he’d ignored them, thinking it was just a phase for Lila, but she didn’t get much better. Eventually, because of the drugs, Thomas and his parents turned their backs on Lila, disowning her and cutting off her trust fund. Things had gone too far, they’d said. It was tough love.

  Their tough love drove Lila further away. Thomas told Kyra th
ey’d rarely spoken to Lila after high school. Sometimes she would call, asking for money or just to yell at them when she was high. Though she liked her cocaine, they knew she was falling into harder drugs. And then she’d been arrested.

  Kyra turned the page in the photo book, revealing a picture of a baby splashing in a sink. She instantly knew it was her mother, because the pain in her heart was sharp and unexpected. She slapped the book closed.

  “Hey.”

  Kyra gasped. Hale stood in the door, looking uncomfortable without his usual scowl.

  “You surprised me,” she said, pressing her hand to her heart. She set the book down gently and stood.

  “What’s all this?”

  She looked down at the books and back at the window seat where they’d come from. She opened her mouth to tell him, but she didn’t know what to say. “Um…I don’t really know,” she managed.

  He didn’t seem bothered by her answer. Instead, he said, “I need you to start picking out some stuff for the house. I brought samples.”

  Kyra pressed her lips up into a smile. “Oh, great!” She tried for excitement, but it fell flat. She picked her way over the books. As she tried to pass through the door, Hale’s hand settled on her arm. Her skin twitched at his touch, her heart dipping. She looked up at him, wide-eyed.

  “You really okay? No faking,” he said, and she glimpsed the compassion in his green eyes. He could smile and be kind; she’d found that out today. He could apologize when he was wrong and bring her coffee. And he could see past her bullshit.

  Choosing not to fake it, she said, “No, I’m not. But if I look at some pretty colors, I’ll feel better.”

  He studied her for a minute, seemingly seeing inside her to the very confines of her soul. She trembled beneath his gaze. Feeling her reaction, his body stiffened, his eyes darkening, but he removed his arm. “Well, let’s get you some pretty colors.”