Page 101 of Cakes for the Grump

The man’s face falls significantly, but he doesn’t try to convince me out of my decision. My ring finger is measured. When the bill is about to be settled, I take myself outside, desperately needing the fresh air.

Palm trees sway above me under the evening sky. My knees feel sweaty.It’s not that I don’t want a free ring. It’s that I—if I get a proper one, it feels…even more real? Which is stupid. I’m being an idiot turning down a big ring I can pawn off later.

What’s the point of being romantic about this? This whole deal is transactional. Should I run back inside and change my mind? Why does the thought of selling a symbol of commitment between Luke and I make me feel this way? Sick.

“Are you okay?” It’s Luke. He’s come outside.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

Considering the way he sighs, I don’t think he believes me. Not wanting to back down, I keep my smile pasted to my face.

“The ring will be ready in a few days,” he finally says. He hands me a bag. “For you.”

Inside is a box and inside that box is a strand of full diamonds to go across my neck.

Luke’s hands slip into his pockets. “It won’t get in the way of your cooking.”

“I-I can’t,” I stutter.

“When the light hits, the stones seem to go up in flames. When I saw it, it felt like it belonged to you. That it should be yours.” He examines my face closely. “But if you want to browse another design, I can buy more options and have them delivered to the house tomorrow?”

Is he kidding?Nope. Luke is patiently waiting for my answer.

“That’s not necessary,” I insist. “The necklace works. I’ll wear it to the conference.”

Because that’s what this is all about. He didn’t argue with my decision, but thinking more on it now, I suppose showing up with a bland ring will have people talking. Luke’s Abbot’s fiancé needs to look expensive. He has a reputation to uphold. That’s why the necklace is necessary. That’s why he wants me to pair the two together.

“Thank you,” says Luke.

Shouldn’t I be thanking you? It feels like I should be.

This night—the date—the kiss?—

Being with Luke (even artificially) is like levitating. You float. All the time. It’s distracting. Terrible for any man in my future to compare to. I’m afraid I’ve ruined my expectations. Like me, they soar too high. The warmth in my heart intensifies.

I should really stop remembering details. His hands. Mouth. Lap. Touch. Feel.

No use.

Luke opens the car door for me. I sit and place the necklace carefully on my lap. I’m not going to fight him. His world might be a world I don’t understand, but he can trust me to play the part.

Though considering the state of my heart, I’m afraid I’m playing it too well.

TWENTY-SIX

The next fewdays have me participating in etiquette class. It’s a recommendation I came up with after thinking about it for a while. Though when I bring this up to Luke, he doesn’t see the need.

“You don’t have to change.”

Easily said for someone who has grown up understanding the correct use of napkins (they go on the lap, and you dab your mouth inside the fold so stains stay hidden), and is well-versed in handshake rules (two pumps in business situations and three pumps in social).

I know I don’t have to put myself through the ministrations of Lady Francine, preaching for hours about how table manners maketh a woman, but I also don’t want this crucial Intel deal held back because I accidentally snort at a joke, rather than melodically giggle into my shoulder for three seconds.

During these lessons, I am messaging Luke.

He’s so busy we haven’t seen each other. He’s gone before I wake up, and returns after I’ve fallen asleep. More than a few times, I’ve tried to stay up and wait for him or I try dragging myself out of bed in the middle of the night to see if he’s up.

Why?