Sips & Strokes: Love wasn't part of the deal

by Sarah Skye

  The internal reminder I give myself sets me straight. I also remind myself why I’m here. We’re here to talk logistics, nothing more.

  I walk over to say hi and tell him that I’m going to order quickly before sitting down, but then I see that there are two giant cups of coffee sitting at the table already, along with a plate of pastries.

  “You didn’t have to get my drink.” I plop into the chair and take a sip anyway, letting out a satisfied hum after I swallow.

  He chuckles as I rip into a croissant. “It’s really no problem.”

  I mumble thank you around a mouthful of buttery, flaky pastry, grinning as I chew. Calder is a totally different kind of man than I’m used to. Insanely hot, attentive, sweet, and thoughtful. I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of enjoying this exact combination of traits in a guy before.

  Seconds later, when I finish the croissant, I reach for an apple tart and catch Calder’s gaze on me. I try my best to hide the surprise that flashes inside of me. He’s got those same hungry eyes he gave me last night, when he saw me at the sports bar wearing that barely-there dress. Now I’m a disheveled mess in yoga pants and a hoodie with my unwashed hair in a messy ponytail.

  Before I can relish the feeling of his gorgeous eyes on me for too long, he blinks and sips from his coffee mug. “So. Our arrangement. What exactly did you want to talk about?”

  The way he emphasizes the word “arrangement” makes me pause. He sounds both amused and confused. But then I put down the apple tart, clear my throat, and nod. “I just think we should set some ground rules.”

  His brow wrinkles.

  “Not that I think you—or I—would do anything wrong. It’s just that I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never… played pretend.”

  I wince at how weird that sounds.

  “Play pretend? I like the way that sounds.”

  I ignore the hot flush making its way up my cheeks at the low and insanely sexy register of his voice.

  “I’m serious, Calder,” I say, trying to stay focused. “We have to be careful. I don’t want to jeopardize anything between us when we do this.”

  “Between us?”

  “Well, yeah, since we work together.”

  His eyebrows knit the slightest bit. “Right. Of course.”

  “It’s not like we have to map out every little thing that happens between us,” I say. “I just want to set some guidelines. And boundaries.”

  “Such as?”

  “First of all, we need to get our stories straight if anyone asks us how we got together. I was thinking we could just say that we met at work since that part is actually true.”

  “That sounds fine to me.”

  “And well, as far as boundaries go…” I pause to sip my coffee. “We need to look like a convincing couple in front of people, right? So that means we’ll have to hold hands, peck each other on the lips and on the cheek, hug, that sort of thing. And that’s okay with me… if that’s okay with you.”

  Calder looks like he’s about to laugh. “Of course it’s okay.”

  “No, tongue kissing though. That’s way too intimate. And no PDA in the classroom. We’re strictly professional coworkers there.”

  “Okay,” he says, drawing out the word like he’s doubtful.

  I glance down for a second to work up the nerve to say the next part. “And I don’t mean to sound crass, but… no sex.”

  “Christ, Lily. That’s not on my mind at all.”

  His baffled tone and the exasperated chuckle he lets out stings the slightest bit. Wow. Is the thought of having sex with me that outrageous to him? I take another bite of tart to hopefully hide my hurt feelings.

  I guess I read way too much into all that flirty banter from last night and the way he looked at me. Calder must just be a flirty, affectionate guy as a baseline—and I can see why. He’s ridiculously handsome and charming with an accent. None of Harmony’s friends could take their eyes off of him. And I definitely didn’t miss just how handsy Brittany got with him when she saw him last night.

  It’s not like he’s exuding all that charm just for me… like I thought he might be.

  Like I hoped he might be.

  I silently scold myself for having such an inappropriate thought.

  “So then we’re on the same page about the no-sex rule,” I say. “That’s good. Really, really good.”

  Calder glances off to the side. “So this is just for the wedding then?”

  I nearly apologize for what I’m about to ask him, but then I stop myself, Calder’s words from last night imprinted in my mind.

  Just say what you want.

  “Well, a couple of other events are planned,” I say with steadiness to my tone. “I’ll need you for the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. And apple picking.”

  Calder squints at me. “Apple what?”

  I wave my hand. “It’s a ridiculous tradition mine and Marco’s families do every fall. I’ve managed to get out of it a couple of times in the past, but since I skipped last year I can’t miss it again. Just please keep the first Sunday in October free.”

  “Can do.”

  We share a long moment of silence as we sip and munch on pastries.

  “So,” I say to him. “Are there any rules you have for me?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. I think you’ve covered them all quite thoroughly. But I do have a favor to ask.”

  “Of course.”

  Calder draws in a deep breath. When he speaks, his words tumble out in a rushed exhale. “Can you be my fake girlfriend in exchange for me helping you out? I have a professional opportunity I’m dying for. And I don’t think I can do it without you.”

  My chest tingles at the sincerity in his voice and the way his eyes sparkle when he talks.

  “Tell me about it.”

  He tells me all about Sonce, his childhood friend’s whisky label that just took their brand international, and how he’s dying to be the spokesperson for it.

  He pauses to drain the rest of the coffee. A tender expression takes over his face. “I want this job. Bad. I used to work at the Sconce distillery when I was a kid. There are so many happy memories I have attached to that place. And to think I could be part of it now would mean everything.”

  My chest squeezes as he speaks. It’s like he’s sharing part of his heart with me. I get the feeling he doesn’t talk this candidly, this personally, to everyone.

  “It’s more than that though, isn’t it?” I ask softly.

  He flashes a sad smile. “It’s scary how well you can read me when we haven’t known each other all that long.” He pauses before he starts speaking. “My work history is a bit of a problem for them.”

  “Seriously? Why? From what I’ve seen, you’re a hot commodity. I’m surprised you said yes to being a model for my class honestly.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “‘From what you’ve seen?’ Just how much do you know about my work history, Professor Lily?”

  Even though his words and his expression are playful, I’m silently scolding myself. I’m going to have to admit to him how I online stalked him now.

  “Well, um, after our first class together, I looked you up online,” I say while trying my best to hold eye contact with him.

  “And were you satisfied with what you found?”

  “Um, yeah, I mean…”

  Judging by the grin on his face, Calder is enjoying my squirming.

  “Okay fine, I found your Instagram. And all those romance novel covers you posed for. I had no idea I was in the presence of a ridiculously famous model.”

  His cheeks start to redden. He’s crazy cute when he’s flustered.

  “Ridiculously famous isn’t what I’d call it. This is a pretty niche industry, and I just managed to make a name for myself,” he says while picking his nails.

  I wonder if that’s some nervous habit. Calder doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who gets nervous, though.

  “You’ve done way more than
that, judging by your follower count and all your endorsement deals.”

  The soft smile he flashes makes me think that he appreciates what I’ve said. I beam on the inside.

  “You’re an artist. Your photos aren’t gratuitous. I can tell you put so much thought into them, how they’re composed, the lighting, the setting, the mood. Your photos are so much more than the image—it’s like they’re speaking to the person looking at them. They evoke a feeling, a mood. It’s not easy to do that with a picture.”

  When I realize I’m gesturing with my hands, I quickly put them in my lap.

  “Sorry. I get a little impassioned when I talk about anything art related.” I let out an embarrassed laugh.

  “Don’t be sorry. Thank you for saying that. Coming from an educator like you—someone who’s an expert on art and all things creative—it means everything.”

  The conviction in Calder’s tone makes me buzz from the inside out.

  He sighs, the faintest hint of disappointment lingering in his face. “I just wish the higher-ups at Sonce felt the same way. I think all they see when they look at my work is a piece of arse.”

  I grin at him. “Then let’s change their minds. What do you need me to do as your fake girlfriend?”

  The corner of his mouth tugs up. “I’ve got a dinner coming up with the reps at Sonce next week. Just you being there with me would make a huge difference. They’ll see that I’m in a stable, long term relationship with a brilliant and cultured art professor and think a bit more highly of me.”

  “I can do that.”

  “And depending on how that goes, I might need you to come to a couple of other events if that’s okay?”

  “More than okay.”

  He raises his eyebrow at me in that deliciously playful way. “Have to admit, I’m surprised you sound so eager to pose as my significant other.”

  “You shouldn’t be. You’re helping me out. It’s only fair that I do the same for you.”

  “Right.” He looks away for a second.

  “But honestly, it’s more than that. I know what it’s like to have people doubt your integrity or your work. That’s the story of my life.”

  “How’s that?”

  “My whole life, my parents put pressure on me to follow in their corporate footsteps. I could be a luxury designer like my mom or a high powered attorney like my dad. Or if those careers didn’t suit me, they would have been fine with something else high profile, like medicine or finance. But wanting to be a lowly art teacher? Forget it.”

  The light in Calder’s eyes dims just the slightest bit, like he feels for me in this moment. It makes my heart beat the tiniest bit faster.

  “That’s fucked up, Lily. I’m sorry.”

  I shrug. “It’s fine. Honestly, it’s the one time in my life when I didn’t just roll over and do what my parents told me to. I dropped out of law school and decided to teach art, the one thing I’ve been passionate about my entire life. And yeah, they still make little comments here and there, but whatever.” I look off to the side and stare out the giant window that serves as the storefront for the bakery. “Working in this job is the happiest I’ve ever been. I’ll never regret choosing it over my parents’ annoying expectations.”

  Just then Calder slides his hand across the table and takes my hand in his. “You’ve got some serious fire in you, Lily. You should let it out more often.”

  The smile he flashes sends giddiness jolting through me.

  “Maybe that can be one of my qualities as your fake girlfriend—I’m bolder.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  I stare down at his hand over mine. When he starts to lace his fingers in mine, my heart thuds. Calder looks down at our joined hands, a soft smile tugging at his lips, then his eyes cut back to me.

  “Does this fall under the acceptable PDA as a fake couple?” he asks.

  I bite my lip as I smile and nod. “I guess we’d better get used to touching each other.”

  We both chuckle. A chunk of my hair comes loose from my ponytail. Calder reaches his hand up, swiping my hair from my face in a slow, deliberate swoop. The tips of his fingers skim across the fullness of my cheek; a sheet of goosebumps flashes across my skin.

  I swallow, his touch unleashing something hot and achy inside of me. It’s been over a year since a guy has touched my hair, my face, my hand, my cheek. And god, it feels so, so good.

  I close my eyes for a long second and let out a hum, completely and totally unplanned. And then my eyelids fly open. I need to get myself under control. This is an arrangement—it’s fake. Calder knows that—and that’s probably why he’s not making weird noises like a creep when he touches me. And I shouldn’t either. I can’t let myself get carried away, no matter how good it feels.

  Just then I jolt up from the table “Okay! So good talk. I guess I’ll see you at the Sonce dinner next week.”

  “Or, you know, we’ll see each other in your class. On Thursday.”

  “Oh. Right. That’s what I—I totally meant to say that. Duh.” I try to laugh it off as I sling my purse over my shoulder.

  I glance down at Calder, who’s looking up at me with bewilderment in his eyes. “So um, thanks for the coffee. And the pastries.” My ears twitch at how pitchy my voice sounds. I grab the remaining tart and shove it in my mouth just to muffle the weird tone of my voice. “See you later!”

  I give Calder an awkward wave, spin around, and leave. On the drive home, I give myself a pep talk.

  “This whole setup is fake. Yes, he feels good, but...”

  Even now I can still feel Calder’s rough, thick fingers against my face, like a phantom touch on my skin.

  “God, he feels good. So, so good…” I groan. “Damn it.”

  Then I shake my head and stare straight ahead. “Get it together, Lily. He can touch you without losing his shit. You can too.”

  But even as I say it, I can’t help but wonder…

  Did Calder feel any of that electricity I felt when we touched?

  9

  Calder

  Nate was fucking gleeful to hear I was a “yes plus one” to his dinner party. He was likely starting to doubt my girlfriend’s existence. Fair enough, and yet here I am. I’ve somehow fallen into a perfect setup with the perfect woman.

  I glance sideways at Lily. She sits with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze out the windshield.

  The perfect woman to act as your fake girlfriend to get you this job. To get her through this fucked up wedding season. That’s what I meant. Never mind that touching her sent fucking electricity through your fingers at the cafe. Get it together, Calder. Don’t lose your shit.

  I shift gears and gun the engine.

  Nate’s place is outside of town a good ways, but I don’t mind the chance to drive a bit. I gesture to the dash. “The car’s wired for Bluetooth. Feel free to put on some music if you like.”

  She stirs in my periphery. “Really? It looks so old-fashioned. Oh, but I mean beautiful, of course,” she rushes to add.

  “Well, it is a classic, but I can’t be playing cassettes now can I? But, thank you. I restored it myself.” I stroke the red leather steering wheel.

  “I know nothing about old cars-um, classic cars. What kind is it?”

  “This is a 1962 Alfa Romeo Giulietta. It took a bit of work to get her how I wanted, but now she’s a dream.”

  “You restored it? Jesus, what aren’t you good at?”

  Playing a decent family man. Keeping professional boundaries with you. Chess.

  “A handful of things, I suppose. You should learn about classic cars. They’re an art form in themselves. You could do a whole unit.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. For now, what should I play?” Lily rummages in her purse for her phone.

  “Anything that pleases you.”

  A few minutes later, “500 Miles” blasts out of my speakers. The Proclaimers’ maddeningly catchy song, infamously from Scotland, makes me groan and laugh all a
t once.

  “Oh, fuck off.” My accent comes through thick, but it probably helps eliminate any venom from the phrase.

  “What? I figured that was your favorite.” She giggles when I groan again. A moment later, the song stops, replaced by Bastille. I nod approvingly.

  We park in the drive. On the walk to the front door, I take a quick breath and touch her spine. Her bare skin in the backless top she’s wearing is warm and soft, but Lily freezes mid-stride and slides her eyes to me.

  I retreat immediately. “Sorry, sorry, just getting into character.”

  She nods, lips pursed. “No, it’s fine. You’re right, I just didn’t expect it.”

  We blow out a collective breath and eye the front door. “Right. Well, let’s see how it goes.”

  She grabs my wrist and puts my hand back on her spine. “Let’s do this.”

  This party is much smaller than the meet-and-greet from a couple of weeks ago, far more intimate but still a good show of twenty people or so. Couples only, no children this time. Nate and his father are there, both with their wives of course, and so are the blokes I interviewed with who felt I was the wrong fit. Added to that are a cluster of financial investors and two whisky sommeliers. I’m well aware that I’m the one person in the room with a “what’s he doing here” tag on his back, but there is no fucking way I’m acknowledging it.

  Nate and Eileen, his wife, greet us at the door. Nate gives me a sly grin as he glances at Lily, who’s shaking hands with Eileen. “So glad you could join us,” he says as he bends to kiss her cheek hello.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” she replies, her face a placid mask like she’s done this kind of thing a million times before.

  “I just love your top,” Eileen gushes. “You have such a beautiful name, dear. Where are you from? Probably not around here, right?”

  I’ve known Lily for a few weeks, but I see instantly the way her body goes rigid at the question.

  “Just outside of town in Belleview actually,” Lily says.

  Eileen’s lived in the city long enough that she clearly catches the affluent suburb name-drop. She squints at Lily. “Oh, right. So then your parents are from...?”