The Fake Date Agreement (Awkward Arrangements Book 1)

by Tanya Gallagher

  I’ve messed up so royally I don’t know if I can come back from it. “Even if I told Mary I changed my mind, I don’t know if my current job will still be here for me.” Or if Greer can forgive me.

  Eden nods sympathetically. “I hear you. But there’s no time like the present to find out. I mean, if you still want her.”

  God, I want her. Was there ever any question? Every ounce of every moment of every day since that party has felt like the bruising weight of the world. I want Greer and a lifetime of making stupid memories with her, of sharing secret glances and inside jokes. I want more chances to love her, to laugh with her.

  I want my best friend back. However I can get her.

  A few months ago, Greer and I stayed late in the office to finish up a project, and somehow our conversation turned to our biggest fears.

  Heights, she said, and I admitted karaoke. And while those things still terrify me, I was so naive. So wrong.

  My biggest fear isn’t singing in public.

  It’s a life without Greer in it.

  I study the confident smile on Eden’s face and feel a tug of hope in my chest. “Why do I feel like you have a plan?” I ask.

  “Not a plan, per se.” She steeples her hands and taps her fingertips together. “What you need to do is grovel.”

  “Sure,” I say. “But to who?”

  27

  Greer

  This was a bad idea.

  No one in their right mind would ever suggest sitting alone in a bathtub with lit candles on Christmas Eve, drinking rosé and listening to their ex-fake-boyfriend-slash-ex-best-friend reading them love poems. And yet, for the life of me, I can’t stop.

  Earlier, I pulled a cassette player from the dusty box under my bed from that time in college when I’d sometimes voice record notes to myself on cassette tapes, and then I popped in Locke’s cassette. Even the sight of his familiar handwriting on the label made my heart squeeze in my chest.

  Warning number one that it was going to be bad.

  The cassette player balances on the edge of my sink now as I wallow in hot water, and I tell myself that my soapy hands are what’s preventing me from turning the damn machine off. But it’s Locke’s smooth voice—taunting me and torturing me, telling me that he loves me in someone else’s words—that keeps me trapped in place.“Greer, if you believe in a world with nonlinear time, then I was always supposed to love you.”

  His voice is warm and kind, and on the tape, he laughs and says, “I’m adding a side note here. Do you remember when we talked about nonlinear time? The way everything that’s possible has already happened? That all the moments that make up everything are kind of stacked together, and we don’t move through them in a stream, but rather we exist in them. This is about inevitability. About living right here in this moment. I saved an article for you about this, so remind me to send it.”

  Tears stream out of my eyes, and I pull my knees up against my chest. The water ripples around me, and everything feels so soggy and sullen. So hopeless.

  “Oh, look,” Locke continues on the tape. “Another one about time.

  That is the thing—

  we are born to love across lifetimes,

  across the universe and back,

  on gray days just as surely as under the aching sun.

  I was born to find you,

  to know you.

  To discover your heart,

  like a ship sinking into the sea.”

  Is he going to move on and discover someone else’s heart? Someone who doesn’t know him half as well or love him half as much?

  I don’t want anyone else to get to kiss him.

  The thought sneaks into my mind, unbidden, and my whole body aches at even the idea. In the past, I never cared about what happened to my exes after we broke up. Not like this.

  That’s because he’s Locke, whispers a tiny voice inside my head.

  Of course he’s different. He’s had part of me all along.

  “Greer, I want to be the light shining out of your eyes.”

  Everything crushing, dissolving into dust.

  I sit in the bath until my fingers go pruny and the water cools and the tape runs out. Locke’s Secret Santa gift is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me, and he did it without expectations. Simply because he wanted to.

  My heart has never felt more seen or more cherished or more broken.

  A sharp alert from my phone shatters the silence.

  It’s too far away for me to reach it, so I slide out of the tub and twist a towel around myself. I accept the FaceTime call, still dripping onto the bathmat.

  “Molly?” My voice comes out thick and nasal, choked out around the lump in my throat. I didn’t know how much I missed her, too, until she was smiling back at me.

  “Ooh, la la. Look at you looking all seductive in your holiday finest.”

  A strangled sound bubbles up from the back of my throat. “Not quite.”

  “You have a pretty dress for Locke’s family thing tonight?”

  A pit grows in my stomach. “I’m not going,” I whisper.

  “What?”

  “We imploded.”

  She shakes her head in confusion. “I thought things were good. Weren’t you going to tell him how you feel?”

  I groan. “I didn’t get that far.” I catch her up on the details, and her face transforms with sympathy.

  “Oh, babe, I’m so sorry I’m not there with you. What are you doing tonight?”

  I shrug, unable to fathom the next few hours. “Rosé? Pajamas and bed at six o’clock?”

  “Unacceptable.” I watch her face twist, and her eyebrows draw together in her signature thinking face. “Hmmm.” Molly’s eyes glint with energy as she taps a finger to her lips. “Are you uninvited? To Locke’s thing?”

  “I mean, we haven’t talked at all for the last four days. There’s no way I’m going.”

  “Why not?”

  I snort out a derisive laugh. “Because all we’ve done is tear each other apart. Because I still have a little pride. Because I need to protect my heart.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Greer I know.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you going to sit around, or are you going to fight for him?”

  I blink at her. “What do you mean? He made a choice.” The choice not to trust me—trust us. The choice to take a job an airplane ride away.

  Molly sighs. “Honey, nothing in life is ever firm. People make choices, and then they make new choices. You need to give him enough information to make the choice that’s best for both of you.”

  “Enough information?”

  My friend is the paramount of patience and sympathy. “You love him.”

  I love him.

  God, I really, really do.

  “Yeah, Molly,” I whisper, wiping fresh tears off my face.

  “So tell him.”

  “After he already rejected me? That sounds like a recipe for more pain.”

  “It’s a good thing he was upset about the kiss with Damien. It means your relationship really mattered to him.”

  “It didn’t matter enough for him to stay.” Even as I say the words, though, I realize that just because things didn’t work out for me with the wrong guys in the past doesn’t mean that they won’t work out with the right guy. With Locke. He and I have too much shared history to let him walk away.

  Locke of all people is the one who made me finally believe I deserve to be loved the way I want. But it’s not enough to just know that. I need to fight for it, too. Hell, if I could stand up to Damien, I can certainly fight for love.

  “Ugh.” I groan and sink onto the bathroom floor. “You’re right.”

  “Ha!” Molly slaps her hands together. “Go make your damn cranberry sauce again and bring a can along with it. Woo his family and give him the information that he needs and get him back. You don’t have to be perfect, Greer. Even donuts don’t have everything together, and donuts are awesome.�
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  Somehow her circular logic makes sense, even to me.

  “Oh my god, Molly.” I laugh and wipe tears from my eyes. “Am I really doing this?”

  My friend grins at the screen. “Yeah, love. You really, really are.”

  28

  Locke

  “Locke! What are you doing here?” My mom greets me with surprise from the doorway of her home, a dusting of flour coating her cheek and her graying hair tied into a bun. “I wasn’t expecting you for another few hours.”

  “I just came by to drop off presents for the kids.” I lift the grocery bags packed with toys for my niece and nephew and jiggle them for effect. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” My mom holds open the door and I step inside, brushing off the December chill and letting the warmth of the house sink into my bones. My mouth waters at the scent of ham and fresh-baked chocolate cake.

  I set the bags of gifts on the kitchen table, and the memory of my last visit here burns bright behind my eyes. I haven’t talked to my mom since I stormed out of her kitchen, but suddenly all of that heartache seems so very small compared to my mess with Greer.

  After all, I’ve been loved. By my mom and my dad and my sister and my aunt. Whether or not they did the right thing when they kept the truth from me, they meant well, and they’re not going anywhere. But if I don’t do something, I’m going to lose Greer for good.

  My mom’s eyes drop to the bags on her kitchen table, and she sinks into a seat. “Does this mean you’re not coming tonight?” Behind her, measuring cups and food in various stages of preparation are strewn across the countertops, and the timer on the microwave runs a countdown for whatever’s in the oven.

  “I can’t, Mom, even though I’d like to.” I pull up a chair next to hers, no longer trusting myself to stand. “Me and Greer,” I begin, and my voice shakes. “I made a horrible mistake.”

  “Oh, honey.” My mom reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. “What happened?”

  Suddenly I am ten years old again and my mom’s still my best friend and my dad’s still alive and my parents are there to help make everything better. I tell her about San Francisco and about my fight with Greer, leaving out the fake relationship part of it. I tell her about how I need to win Greer back.

  The last few days, I’ve been sitting with all of my decisions, and the bombshell about my dad keeps replaying in my mind. Hearing the truth made me furious and fractured, but my mom was right, too—just because my dad and I weren’t officially related on paper didn’t make our relationship any less real. It’s the conclusion I keep coming back to after all this time, and it’s just as true for me and Greer. It might have been a fake relationship, but it was real love. I know that all the way in my bones.

  When I’m finished talking, my mom leans back in her chair and looks at me with so much pride on her face that the ache that’s been sitting on my chest like stones starts to lighten.

  “You are your father’s son, and he’d be so proud of you,” she says.

  I squeeze my eyes shut against the truth of it. “I messed up, Mom.”

  “The point is you’re going to fix it. And you’re so strong, Locke. No matter what happens, you’re going to be okay.”

  “I’m sorry that I got so mad,” I whisper.

  “You had every right to.”

  I nod because both things can be true. You’re allowed to feel anger just as much as you’re allowed to let it go. It’s what I’m trying to do with Greer. I just hope she feels the same way. “Thanks,” I say. “Actually, before I go, I have a favor to ask.”

  My mom cocks her head with a tiny smile. “What’s that?”

  I reach into one of the grocery bags and dig under a toy dinosaur for Logan to pull out a handful of ingredients. I set them on the table and look at her with hope. “Can you help me make one last dish?”

  I slide off my gloves and push the buzzer on the intercom at Greer’s apartment, the metal button cool under my touch. Come on, Greer. Answer the door.

  The intercom rings with no reply.

  I knew Greer had a gated apartment, but I hadn’t exactly counted on this being the thing that stopped me.

  I push the button again, applying more pressure like the harder I push it the sooner she’s going to come. I know that’s not how it works, but it feels so desperately vital to get inside and see my girl.

  Everything I have planned only counts tonight.

  At last, a couple dressed in formalwear opens the apartment door and steps through, then they give me the side-eye as they hold it open for me.

  “Thanks.” I shift the Christmas tree in my arms and drag it into the building’s foyer, leaving a trail of pine needles in my wake. The tree was definitely easier to carry when it still wore the net, but hey, it’ll be worth it.

  Probably.

  I shove the tree in an elevator, and together we ride to Greer’s floor, the piney scent swinging me back into every Christmas with my parents, each present we wrapped for someone else. My dad was the one who taught me your heart grows the most when you give it to someone else, when you do something just to make someone else smile. My mom’s right—he would have been proud of me for trying to fix things. I just hope Greer understands.

  The elevator dings to announce my arrival at her floor, and I drag the tree onto her carpeted hallway. I left all the ornaments on the tree except for one, which I’d packed in my backpack along with some food for safekeeping, and the decorations clink together as I walk.

  Shatterproof ornaments for the win.

  My arms burn with effort, and my lungs feel stretched tight by the time I arrive at her doorway in a panting mess. I lean the tree on the wall outside Greer’s door, then ring the doorbell and hold my breath.

  The muted chimes lift in resonance behind her closed front door, but no one answers.

  My palms start to sweat, and my heart picks up with a panicky thump.

  Please, Greer.

  I ring again.

  No answer.

  She’s gone.

  My shoulders drop and my chest deflates, hope vanishing with every second that passes without Greer.

  What if I’m too late?

  Then, over my shoulder, I hear the plastic rustle of grocery bags and the muffled sound of footsteps on the carpeted hallway floor.

  Please.

  I turn and she’s here, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life. I drink in the sight of Greer—her sweatpants with a hole in one knee and her tight, maroon Henley T-shirt that clings to her curves. A single plastic grocery bag swings from her arm and not a lick of makeup decorates her face.

  “Locke?” Greer’s mouth drops open, and she stares at me and the tree with a question in her eyes. So many emotions play across her gorgeous features that my head spins. Everything I want is right here if only I can reach for it.

  Greer takes half a step forward, and she is everything I want for Christmas, everything I want for my life. Her eyes survey my body, and she opens her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

  29

  Greer

  “What are you doing here?” I repeat, staring at Lachlan as a numb sort of shock works its way down my spine. I spent the last hour racing around the supermarket, girding myself for our discussion, and the last place I expected him was here, on my doorstep, with a Christmas tree in hand. He looks good, too, with well-groomed stubble accenting his jaw and the collar of my favorite of his button-down shirts peeking out from under his thick, wool coat.

  Locke steadies the tree with two hands and brings his warm brown gaze to mine. “I didn’t think you were going to make it to Christmas, so I’m bringing Christmas to you.”

  My stomach swoops with longing as I squint at the tree. “You carried that all the way here? From your place?”

  “I heard I have strong arms.”

  A laugh slips out of me, quick as a river, and hope and excitement lighten my chest. This is happening. Locke’s here, standing across from
me and looking into my eyes like we’ve done every day for the last year. “Do you want to bring it inside?”

  Relief fills Locke’s smile. “Yeah, Greer. I would love to.”

  I slip past him to unlock the door, resisting the urge to lean into his heat and the tempting scent of his cologne. No matter how much I want him, first I need to hear what he has to say.

  I hold the door open, and Locke drops his backpack just inside the entrance. Then he bends down and hauls the tree into my apartment, causing the honed muscles of his shoulders to flex beneath his coat.

  “What do you think?” he calls from somewhere between its branches. “Living room or dining room?”

  I set my grocery bag on my kitchen counter and follow him. “Living room.”

  “Good choice.” Locke drops the tree by the picture window and plugs in the cord dangling from the branches, casting twinkling lights all over the room. Then he shrugs out of his coat and stands back, breathing heavily.

  For a second, the two of us just stare at the tree in silence, everything unspoken hanging between us. How much we mean to each other. How much this breakup has hurt.

  The tree looks so good in my living room, glittering and hopeful, and he looks so good here, too. Lachlan Mills has always fit into the fabric of my life, been woven in so seamlessly that it’s hard to picture who I would be without him. Him leaving was a hole ripped in a favorite sweater, a space in the shape of him, impossible to mend.

  But he’s here, in my apartment, and he smells like home.

  “I missed you,” Locke admits, so low I’m not sure I hear him at first. His eyes sweep from the tree to my face and land there so dizzyingly hot that I can feel my pulse in my fingertips. “Am I allowed to say that? I don’t know what’s okay anymore.”

  He missed me, and his vulnerability lets me unlock a part of my heart. If he’s being brave, I need to be, too. That’s the thing about your worst fears. Sometimes you have to face them. And if you’re strong and you’re lucky, sometimes you win.