Page 91 of Make-Believe Match

As soon as we’d gotten home from the meeting, she’d tipped over on my couch and napped for hours. I knew she hadn’t slept well last night, so I slipped her shoes off her feet, laid a blanket over her, and let her sleep. When she woke up, she seemed a little out of it—sort of quiet and tense—but I figured the relief probably hadn’t sunk all the way in yet. After we’d picked up Sara, she’d loosened up.

Inside the ice cream shop, I waited by the register, while the two new best friends ordered their cones, I paid for them, and I grabbed a table by the window. They joined me a few minutes later, licking big fat scoops of vanilla ice cream filled with chunks of cookie dough. I tried not to notice the way Lexi’s tongue worked around the perimeter of her cone, or the little dribble of vanilla she licked from her lips while making eye contact with me.

She was such a vixen sometimes. I loved that about her. I loved a lot of things about her, actually.

Living with her was surprisingly easy. Maybe it was because we had so much sex. Maybe it was because we knew it was only temporary. Or maybe it was because we actually suited each other pretty well. Our differences were well matched.

She’d been shocked the first time she came home to a sparkling bathroom and kitchen, the fixtures gleaming, the tiles shiny, the floors spotless. Her jaw dropped when she saw the perfectly made bed. She asked if a hotel maid had paid a visit.

I feigned offense, telling her that after our mom died, we’d all had to pitch in and help out around the house—I’d been too young to cook or run errands, but I was good at household chores. It stuck with me. I even do laundry, I told her, offering to take her clothes off right then and there and put them in the washing machine just to prove I was telling the truth.

She took me up on that offer, by the way.

And her cooking? I’d never eaten so well in my life (nor had I ever endured so many jokes about how much I enjoyed another man’s sauce).

My family adored her, and she fit right in. We’d met Austin, Veronica, and the kids for breakfast at Moe’s. We’d hung out at Buckley’s Pub with Xander and Kelly. We’d participated in family game night at my dad’s. Mabel had FaceTimed us so she could “meet” her new sister officially, and Dash sent a wedding gift, including a handwritten note saying that even though I was a dick for eloping when I’d promised him years ago he could be my best man, he was happy for us and couldn’t wait to celebrate next time he was home.

Everything with her just felt easy.

It’s not that we never argued. Sometimes we didn’t see eye to eye on some facet of the renovation, and when Lexi was determined to get her way, she dug her heels indeep. She was ridiculously emotional, somewhat temperamental, and not above slamming a door when she got mad.

But she was quick to apologize when she’d overreacted, and when I was at fault for saying something insensitive, I’d say I was sorry and try to make it up to her. We balanced each other out. I was good at viewing things big-picture, remaining logical and rational, problem-solving within our budget. She was creative and resourceful, and her stories about the place helped us come up with ideas that were modern with just the right amount of romance and nostalgia. I’d even come to appreciate the way she was incapable of hiding her feelings. I loved that I could read her so easily.

She was endlessly grateful for what I was doing for her and for Snowberry, and I liked the way it made me feel. Appreciated. Needed. Vital to something bigger than myself. In my profession, I was used to negotiating a deal and moving on. But this was about more than money. We were restoring something. Building something that would last.

Also, she gave excellent blowjobs.

That night I’d shown up on her doorstep and asked her to marry me, I’d approached it like a job, and there were parts of it that felt like work. But I had to admit...there were a lot of benefits.

Things I’d miss when all was said and done.

“Mom says you’re going to live in Michigan now.” Sara’s voice tugged me back to the present. “Is that true?”

“For a while,” I said. “But I’ll come back and visit sometimes.”

“You better.” She had ice cream all over her face, hand, and sleeve.

“Pinky promise.” I held out my little finger and she grinned, hooking her sticky finger in mine.

“Pinky promise.” She took one more bite of her cone. “I’m done.”

Rising to my feet, I reached for what was left and tossed it in the trash, bringing a few napkins back to the table. “Here. Want to wipe off your mouth?”

She took the paper napkins and scrubbed them over her lips. “Thanks.”

“Ready to go?” I asked Lexi.

She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Wish we’d brought an umbrella. It’s really coming down out there now.”

“I don’t care!” shouted Sara, running for the door. “I love rain!”

Groaning through laughter, we followed her out to the sidewalk where she joyfully stomped in every puddle, spun circles in the downpour, and tried to catch drops on her tongue. Couples under umbrellas laughed at us as we chased behind her, the rain soaking my shirt and Lexi’s blouse.

At the crosswalk, we had to wait for the signal, and Sara grabbed my hand. “Let’s dance!”

I laughed. “Dance?”

“Yes! Just like my favorite Taylor Swift song I told you about!”