Sage Advice

by Katie Graykowski

  Fifteen minutes later, she grabbed her robe off the peg outside of the shower and slipped it on. She hobbled out of the shower with clean hair and clean everything else. A shower had never felt so good.

  She slid the bag off and stretched it out on the side of the tub to dry. She made her way over to her closet. She needed something that was easy to put on. She chose an emerald-green hoodie sweatshirt dress that came to her knees. She grabbed panties and a bra. Carefully, she slid the panties over her cast and up to her knee. She slid her other leg in and pulled them up. She slipped on the bra and then the dress.

  She pulled her wet hair up into a bun and secured it with an elastic. This was good enough for lying on the sofa and binge-watching TV.

  Her stomach rumbled. She would have breakfast delivered. Carrot-cake French toast and an omelet from the South Congress Café. She unlocked the door and walked out of the bathroom. Pierce was no longer in bed, but there was humming coming from down the hall.

  She hobbled down the hall to see why he was still there.

  She stepped into the living room to find him, suit jacket off, white shirt untucked, standing at her stove. He flipped something into the air. “Of course you can cook.”

  He shot her a dazzling smile. “It’s one of my many hidden talents. I’m also a snazzy dancer.”

  She shook her head. It wasn’t fair that some people were born charming, beautiful, and could cook and dance. What exactly had she done in a former life to end up average? She watched him flip whatever it was again. The better question was what he had done in a former life to end up like this.

  She hobbled over to her small, round kitchen table. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but when are you going to leave?”

  He flipped the perfect omelet onto one of her purple Fiestaware plates. “We’re spending the day together.” He set the plate in front of her and then opened her silverware drawer and brought her a fork.

  “It’s creepy that you know where everything is in my kitchen.” She took the fork and sliced off a good-sized bite. She shoved it in her mouth. It was good. She swallowed. “Is that bell pepper?” She forked up another bite and analyzed the small green chunks.

  “Yes.” He whisked eggs in a glass bowl and then poured them into the pan.

  “I don’t have a bell pepper.” She glanced at her fridge as if it would tell her where he’d gotten bell pepper, and for that matter, the eggs.

  “I had groceries delivered last night. All you had in your fridge was take-out containers.” He reached over and opened the cabinet next to the fridge where she kept her cereal. “We really should discuss all of this junk food.” He tilted his head to watch her. “Come on over. Adulthood is waiting. Green vegetables are your friends. Only ten-year-olds with irresponsible parents eat junk like that.” He nodded toward the Lucky Charms.

  “I bet you’re the person who brings cut-up raw vegetables to the company potluck. I hate to break this to you, but nobody likes the crudité man.” She propped her foot up on the chair to her right.

  “Is that why I’ve never gotten a signed birthday card from all of the players on the team?” He flipped the omelet.

  “Let’s face it. They probably only invite you to one out of ten potlucks, because no one really likes raw broccoli.” She took another bite and then swallowed. “Oh God, are you that jerk who hands out bags of baby carrots at Halloween?”

  He grinned. “Guilty.”

  “So that’s why you refuse to leave my house. Halloween was a while ago, but there’s probably still a mob of angry costumed children roaming your neighborhood calling for your head. They’ve already taken out the lady who hands out raisins and the a-hole dentist who hands out toothbrushes. You’re going to have to sleep with one eye open until next Halloween.” She forked up another bite. “This omelet is really good.”

  “See, healthy food doesn’t have to taste bad.” He flipped his omelet onto a plate.

  “Don’t think I don’t see the butter you have out on the counter.” She pointed with her fork to the counter.

  “Haven’t you heard? Butter’s not bad for you anymore.” He set his plate down and then turned to the refrigerator. He pulled out a glass pitcher of what looked like orange juice, went to the cabinet where she kept glasses, took two out, and filled them with juice. He set one next to her plate and the other next to his.

  “That’s why I stick with cereal. It was bad for you yesterday, it’s bad for you today, and it will still be bad for you tomorrow. Stability is comforting.” She sipped her juice, and the sweet orangy-ness was divine. “Is this fresh squeezed?”

  “Yes.” He sipped his juice.

  “Did you squeeze it?” She loved fresh-squeezed orange juice.

  “Yes. I used your juicer.” He took a bite of omelet.

  “I don’t have a juicer.” Surely she would have noticed if her house had come with a juicer, because she knew for a fact that she’d never bought one.

  “You do now.” He nodded toward the sink. “You also have a new coffee maker, because I couldn’t find yours.” He grinned. “Amazon Prime Now really has changed the face of retail.”

  “Oh my God, are you moving in with me?” She sat back. “Did those angry Halloween kids burn down your house or something?”

  “No, I’m not moving in … at least … not permanently.” He was so casual. Like he bought small appliances and cooked breakfast for lots of women.

  “If this is about my foot … you don’t need to worry, I’m good. I know you feel bad, but this is too much.” She grabbed a paper napkin from the bowl at the center of the table and wiped her mouth. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m an adult, and as bad as this is to admit, even with the hospital visit, last night still wasn’t the worse blind date I’ve been on.”

  “Wow, I can’t wait to hear about that.” He was all easy charm.

  Like hell was she going to tell him about her attempted drowning by lasagna. “Seriously, how do I get rid of you?”

  “I have a proposition for you.” He dabbed at the corners of his mouth like some snooty English aristocrat and set his napkin in his lap. She couldn’t help but notice that hers was wadded up by her plate. Would it be too obvious if she smoothed it out and laid it in her lap now?

  “Okay. Does the proposition have anything to do with me signing legal paperwork promising not to sue you? I totally will. Sign the paperwork, I mean. Not sue you.” She pointed to her foot. “This wasn’t your fault. You don’t need to do all of this for me. I’ll sign whatever you want.”

  She sipped her juice. It really was amazing.

  “I hadn’t thought of having you sign anything.” He looked a little offended. He slid out of the chair and down on one knee. His perfectly folded napkin fell to the floor. “Chloe, will you do me the honor of being my fake fiancée? I promise to pretend that we’ve been together for over a year and to show the world how much I fake love you until well after your book hits the shelves.”

  She laughed so hard that orange juice shot out of her nose. It took her a full two minutes and several gulping breaths before she stopped laughing. She wiped the laughter tears out of her eyes. He was still down on one knee. “Oh my God, you’re serious?”

  “Yes.” He sounded hurt as he slid back into his chair. “I know you don’t like me, but I really would like to help you out. Besides, I don’t think I could live with myself if Dr. Van Card was eaten by cannibals.”

  Mental head slap. “I told you about my fake fiancé? I don’t remember doing that, but now I see where you got the idea.” She placed her hand on top of his. “Thank you for the offer and the fantastic omelet, but I don’t think it would work out.”

  “How do you mean? We’re not really getting married. It’s only for a few months at the most.” He sounded so logical. In the world he lived in, everything was possible.

  She took a deep breath and dealt him a heavy dose of reality. “You really are a very sweet man. I missed that last night. And while I would lov
e to take you up on your offer, I don’t think the world would buy it.” She was under no delusions about herself. “The reason everyone thought we were brother and sister last night is because women like me don’t date men like you.”

  “How do you mean?” He watched her. “I know you have a PhD and I’m probably not the scholar you’re used to, but—”

  “It’s not that.” She waved it away. He was going to make her say it. “I’m a good twenty pounds heavier and at least three cup sizes smaller than the women you date. Think back to last night when you first laid eyes on me.”

  She’d seen the disappointment in his eyes. It hadn’t hurt then because she’d written him off as an asshole, but it hurt now. He wasn’t a cruel man, so she wasn’t sure why he was making her state the facts.

  “That’s not …” He pressed his lips together.

  She saw realization dawn. She patted his hand. “It’s okay. Your world is filled with the crème de la crème. I’m a realist. On a good day, I can pull off cute, but that’s all. I’m not putting myself down. I have great self-esteem.” She shrugged. “I’m okay with being average. Take now, for example. Even after a shower, I just look okay. You slept in your clothes and still look like you just walked off a GQ cover shoot.”

  She leaned into him and sniffed. “And you smell good. How is that possible? You slept in your clothes. When I woke up this morning, I smelled like a feral cat that had stumbled on hard times.”

  “I didn’t notice.” He wouldn’t make eye contact.

  “You’re lying, but it’s okay. You’re trying to be nice.” She should have been embarrassed, but they were way past that. “Okay, if this makes you feel any better, I wrote you off last night as an asshole almost from the very beginning. But you’re not. You’re actually a really nice guy. I hope we can be friends. You’re kind of fun to hang out with, which is strange for me.” She really should just stop talking, but she was on a roll. “I have an anxiety disorder that usually makes talking to new people hard. And I don’t like crowds, but you’re easy to talk to, which is new for me.” She thought about it for a second. “I think it’s because I wrote you off as an a-hole, so I didn’t care what you thought.” She hunched both her shoulders this time. “I know, what does that say about me … shallow much?”

  He slid back into his chair. “Okay, I might have not …” He looked around like he was trying to find the right words. He shrugged. “I like hanging out with you too. That’s rare for me. I get bored easily.”

  “Then prepared to be bored out of your mind. My plans today include lying on the sofa and binge-watching Game of Thrones.” She finished her juice.

  “I’ve never seen Game of Thrones.” He took another bite of his omelet.

  “I’m not sure we can be friends anymore.” Who hadn’t seen Game of Thrones? Surely he could afford HBO.

  “Don’t be too hasty. I’ve been meaning to watch it.” He finished his juice.

  “You’re just saying that.” He really was a nice guy, and she didn’t know how she’d missed that.

  “No, really. I bought all of the seasons, but I haven’t had time to watch them.” He was all sincerity.

  “You’re going to stay here and watch them with me, aren’t you?” She finished off her omelet.

  “Yes.” He grinned.

  “Don’t you need a change of clothes?” Not that he looked bad, but most people hated wearing the same clothes for more than a day.

  “My assistant is bringing me some.” He finished off his omelet and picked up their plates. He headed to the sink.

  “Do you have your assistant bring you clothes to a stranger’s house often?” She thought about it. He was a famous football player. “Probably so.” She smiled. “You’re such a slut.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Guys can’t be sluts.” He opened the dishwasher.

  She rolled her eyes at the slut comment. “Of course they can. By the way, the dishwasher doesn’t work—”

  “I know. I found that out the hard way.” He set the plates on the bottom row. “Which is why Amazon delivered one of those too.” He closed the dishwasher.

  “You bought me a new dishwasher?” That felt like crossing a line. A juicer and a coffee maker were one thing, but appliances that had to be installed were another.

  “Yes, and before you make me return it, you should know it took me two hours to install it, so it stays.” He closed the door and pressed the start button.

  “So, you bought groceries, appliances, and installed a dishwasher … and you still look cover-shoot ready? What were you, Mother Teresa in a former life?” She had a feeling that she had just been average in a former life and that it had spilled over into this one.

  “What does that even mean?” He picked up a dishcloth and wiped down the counters.

  “If I had done all of that, I wouldn’t look artfully rumpled like you do. It’s a compliment … mostly.” She propped her head on her fist. “You’re very pretty to look at.”

  He actually blushed. “But too pretty to be fake engaged to you.”

  “Yeah, sometimes life sucks.” She watched him tidy her kitchen. Seriously, he was the perfect guy, which was too bad because no one would believe they were engaged. “And, thanks to social media, most of the world thinks we’re brother and sister. I know we live in the South, but I’m pretty sure incest is still illegal.”

  He picked up parts of what looked like a juicer and began handwashing them. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “No worries. I found a website called RentAFiancé.com. That’s my backup plan in case I can’t find a fake one soon.” There was a slim chance she’d find true love in the next week … maybe.

  He stopped handwashing the juicer to stare at her. “RentAFiancé.com isn’t a thing, is it?”

  “Yes, it is. Apparently, I’m not the only one who needs a fake fiancé. There seems to be a market for it.” That was comforting in a weird sort of way. At least she wasn’t the only desperate female in this day and age.

  “You won’t need to rent a fiancé, because I’m going to find you one.” He was all business.

  “Wait, what?” She was pretty sure that was a terrible idea, but at this point, she didn’t have any other options.

  Chapter 7

  Pierce tried not to take it personally that she didn’t want him as her fake fiancé, but it was hard. She did have a point with the sibling thing. His life had been so boring before he’d met her. This time yesterday, all he’d had to worry about was working out. Now, he had a fake sister, and he was in charge of finding her a fake fiancé. He folded the dish towel and hung it over the faucet. “Need any help getting to the sofa?”

  He wanted to help her, but Chloe wasn’t really much for help, which he completely understood. He wasn’t much for asking for or taking help either.

  “No, I’m good.” She stood and hobbled over to her overstuffed, cheery bright-red sectional sofa. She plopped down on the chaise end, smacked a multicolored throw pillow down on the end, and propped up her foot. She pulled the purple knit throw that was folded on the sofa back around her. She looked back over her shoulder. “Are you coming? I have like a bazillion hours to cover before the final season comes out in a couple of weeks.”

  Did that mean they were going to spend lots of time together in the next couple of weeks? He smiled to himself. He liked that idea. He was surprised to find that he actually wanted to spend more time with her and that it had nothing to do with guilt.

  “We’re watching the entire series?” He’d only bought the first three seasons off of iTunes, but he knew there were more.

  “Yes, I’ve got to rewatch everything because I can’t remember what happened last. It’s been almost two years since the previous season aired.” She patted the seat next to her.

  She wanted him to stay. It was progress.

  “You’ve watched it before?” Why would anyone watch a whole TV series twice?

  “Duh. You’re literally the only person in the free world who h
asn’t seen Game of Thrones. I feel it’s my duty as an American to make you watch this show.” She held up the end of the throw. “I’ll even share my blanket with you. After all, winter is coming.”

  “That’s a Game of Thrones reference, right?” Because winter was over here, and spring was in full bloom. Maybe she’d like to take a drive through the Hill Country to see the spring wildflowers. Girls were always trying to get him to take them to do that.

  “You’ll have to watch to find out.” She picked up the remote from a basket full of them on the dark, oval coffee table.

  “What if I don’t like Game of Thrones?” There was little chance of that, but he liked messing with her almost as much as she seemed to like messing with him. He took the spot next to her and had to fight the urge to put his arm around her. What if he just rested it on the sofa back? It would be more comfortable that way. He tried it out. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “There’s not a chance you’re not going to like Game of Thrones. In addition to the sword fighting, the makers of the show really like naked breasts. I’m pretty sure there are naked boobs in every single episode.” Her eyes rolled up to his. “I’m assuming you do like to see boobs.”

  “Is that a trick question? Of course I like boobs.” It took everything he had in him not to glance down at hers. They might not be huge, but they were a solid B cup, and they were real, which made them way more fascinating than any boobs on TV. For that matter, right now, they were more fascinating than any boobs he’d ever seen.

  “Oh my God.” She sat up. “Come on, really?”

  “What?” Had she figured out that he kinda had his arm around her and that he was thinking about her boobs? He didn’t want to move his arm, in case that wasn’t why she was upset.

  “Even your armpits smell good. That is so frustrating.” She rolled her eyes. “Is it deodorant or some sort of body spray? Do they make it for women?”