The Fine Art of Faking It

by Lucy Score

  Helping Hands Day was hands down—ha—Eden’s favorite day of the year. Usually. The entire town mobilized to do their part, no matter how large or small, to make life a little better for someone else. Blue Moon was blanketed in good vibes… except for Eden.

  She was mired in a sticky quicksand of regret, self-loathing, and general confusion. And it was all Davis’s fault. She shook her head to clear the thought. It was a deeply ingrained habit to blame him for everything. This time, the bad mojo was all on her. Exactly what did she have to complain about? Davis had gone and given her everything she wanted, a Davis-free, Beautification Committee-free life.

  Eden was back to pre-stink bombing. Except now she had the knowledge of what it felt like to come on Davis’s hard cock while he whispered dirty little nothings in her ear. And she’d never experience that again. She told him what she’d wanted, and he’d delivered.

  Only now she wasn’t so sure that what she thought she wanted was what she actually wanted. This last week without him? Well, it had none of the shine of her pre-sex-with-Davis life. She had to face facts. Having sex with Davis, having feelings for Davis, had ruined her life.

  “Can I sign up for the last two weeks in February?” Mildred, everyone’s favorite liquor store clerk, dragged Eden’s attention back to the present. The freezing cold, lonely present where her only concern was supposed to be signing up volunteers to cook food for townsfolk in need.

  Mildred snorted when she looked at the month of August. “Mrs. Nordemann’s going to have her hands full. The Merrill girls are both due right around then!”

  Eden gave a half-laugh and thought of her friends starting families… in their healthy committed relationships. Well, if she ignored the fact that Eva was an accessory to arson and hadn’t told her husband, yet. But they were building something while running successful businesses. Was she missing out by focusing only on work? Did she want more?

  She pressed a hand to her fluttering belly through the layers of thermal and down.

  “I expect you and Davis will be joining in on the baby train,” Mildred said cheerily. “Oh! There’s Mervin Lauter. Yoo hoo!” Mildred scampered off to torture someone else with offhanded comments about their life choices.

  Word hadn’t spread yet, and Eden didn’t blame the Beautification Committee for being slow to admit their first spectacular loss. She hadn’t felt like sharing the news herself. It was a far cry from the gloating she’d planned on doing had it all gone to plan.

  The Beautification Committee’s loss didn’t feel like her win. Eden tried to tell herself it was because she was cheated out of the big public breakup with Davis taking one for the team and finally being the bad guy. She’d been counting on the vindication. But that didn’t explain the emptiness she felt every time she lay down in her bed… alone.

  The fact was, they were all losers in this situation.

  The B.C. failed at a match. Davis was still out of a kitchen. And Eden was… so damn lonely without Davis Gates.

  Eden rubbed her gloved hands over her face. She’d used what happened in high school as a defining moment. And she’s shaped her entire adult life around trying to prove to everyone that she wasn’t that vengeful teenager. But look at what she’d done. Hadn’t she just proven to herself that she was still that same wounded person?

  She needed to talk it out. Needed to make sure she hadn’t already made a huge mistake. Because right now, she was fairly certain she had.

  “Damn it,” she whispered to herself and then flashed an apologetic smile to Maizie, the waitress at Peace of Pizza, and her boyfriend, Benito, as they flipped through the calendar.

  “Everything okay?” Maizie asked her.

  “Good. Great. Really good,” Eden insisted. She whipped out her phone, intending to text Sammy or Layla. But the wallpaper on her screen halted her fingers. It was Davis on the floor in front of the fire in the library. He was reading while her dogs snuggled up against him.

  “Oh my God. I love him.” It hit her like a bat connecting with a piñata. This feeling. This gross, unsettled, yearning in her belly was love.

  Maizie and Benito looked at her sideways. When in the hell had she fallen in love with Davis? A hundred memories flooded through her. Davis winking at her from his locker. Washing her dishes. Threatening Anthony Berkowicz. Bringing her to orgasm the way only a man who loved a woman could.

  She was an idiot. A huge, stubborn, ridiculous idiot who wanted to be right more than she wanted to be happy.

  Layla appeared, looking serious in her uniform. “Excuse me, folks. I need to borrow Eden for some police business.”

  “She didn’t set the Gateses’ yard on fire, deputy. Didn’t you see The Monthly Moon?” Maizie insisted.

  “Technically, she still could have set Davis’s kitchen on fire,” Benito pointed out. “That one hasn’t been solved yet.”

  Maizie threw an elbow into her boyfriend’s ribs.

  “Noted,” Layla said, dragging Eden out from behind the table, through the do-gooding crowd, and behind the homemade preserve collection tent.

  “Are you okay? You look like you’re going to pass out,” Eden observed.

  “I jogged here from the police station.”

  “I can see the police station from here,” Eden pointed out, looking at the brick façade not two-hundred yards away.

  “Shut up. I had like three funnel cakes, and I’m still full from Thanksgiving,” Layla wheezed. “Listen, I have news on an investigation that I shouldn’t be telling you about.”

  Eden grabbed her friend’s hand in a death grip. “You’re not going to set me up like that and then not tell me, are you?”

  “I can’t tell you,” Layla insisted, shooting a furtive look over both shoulders.

  “Do not make me stuff a fourth funnel cake in your pretty face,” Eden threatened. “Is this even remotely important?”

  “This directly affects you. Since it involves your ex-boyfriend and him moving out of your inn and back into his house,” Layla hissed.

  “What?” Eden gasped. If Davis moved out of the inn, her shot at winning him back went with him. He was so mad at her, he’d probably erect a security fence between their properties. “This is terrible!”

  “A few weeks ago, you couldn’t wait to kick his ass out,” Layla complained.

  “That was before I realized I loved him!”

  “Crap! There goes my twenty bucks. I never should have bet on anything with an astrological apocalypse going on.”

  “I will give you twenty bucks if you tell me why Davis is moving out!”

  “Okay, okay. Chill out with your talons,” Layla said, carefully removing Eden’s gloved hand from her arm. She looked over both shoulders, her blue eyes wide and sugared up. “Listen. You didn’t hear this from me, but the insurance company paid up. Or they will.”

  “How? When did this happen?” Everything was going to go back to exactly the way it had been pre-stink bomb. And that wasn’t good enough anymore.

  “Would you mind putting your hands in your pockets? If you’re not trying to saw through my parka with your nails, you’re gesturing like a wild woman.”

  “Layla!”

  “Okay! Apparently even arsonists are feeling the HeHa Spirit. The sheriff got this note. It was a confession.”

  “The Beautification Committee confessed?” Eden hissed.

  “Sort of. It wasn’t signed, but Cardona has to be suspicious, right? He’s not an idiot. So, with a confession—and probably a hunch that he might have to put his new bride and baby mama in jail—the sheriff decided the case was closed. He contacted the insurance company personally to let them know that Davis didn’t have anything to do with it. Criminal mischief yadda yadda. Anyway, they’re paying up.”

  Eden scrubbed her hands over her face. At least one of them was a winner. Davis would get to fix his house, and then everything would go back to normal…

  “You look like you’re sucking on a lemon,” Layla observed.

  “I
do not.”

  “Huh. Coulda fooled me. Anyway, I’ll see you at the dance tonight.”

  Eden wasn’t going to the dance. Heart-broken women didn’t dance. They stayed home, hugging the pillow that still smelled like their fake ex, and beat themselves up for being idiots.

  49

  “Show of hands. Who’s mapping the sidewalk wear?” Davis was at the high school organizing the second wave of volunteer crews while Eden maintained order in the park.

  A ragtag group of winter-wear clad individuals raised mittened hands.

  “Great. All we need to know is where the walkways need repairing on the north side of the park between Patchouli and Lavender streets. Take note of the closest address and document with pictures of the issue if possible.”

  A half-dozen colorful hatted heads nodded. They’d had so many volunteers this year that Davis and Eden had—separately—put their heads together with Beckett Pierce to come up with a few new tasks. Including sending people out to document sidewalk cracks.

  They were desperate.

  Davis consulted his tablet. “Okay, that just leaves the work crew for the high school sheep shelter.” Blue Moon High saved money on landscaping by using grazing sheep on the school’s lawns. The sheep lived like kings and queens in a small barn behind the football field.

  Another seven or eight hands raised. “Head on up to the barn, and Huckleberry Cullen will set you up with cleaning supplies,” Davis instructed them.

  His group disbanded cheerfully, heading off to fulfill their civic duty.

  He glanced at his watch, pleased that he still had some time before he needed to make his triumphant return to the park. Eden was going to be very surprised with what he had cooked up. And probably mad. But Davis had learned a thing or two in these past few weeks. And that was all her fault.

  “Davis.”

  He felt the familiar tensing of his shoulders at the voice he knew as well as his own.

  “Dad? What are you doing here?” Davis welcomed his father with a one-armed hug and a clap on the back.

  Ferguson looked… good. Healthy, fit, tan. He was dressed casually—for Ferguson—in a cashmere coat over pressed jeans and a thick wool sweater. His silver hair and thick, archless eyebrows had recently enjoyed their monthly trim.

  “I flew home early with Bryson and your mother. And it looks like not a moment too soon.” He slapped The Monthly Moon into Davis’s chest. “You owe us an explanation.”

  “I think that is the least of our problems,” Davis said wryly.

  “You may think so, but if you willingly got mixed up with a woman who tried to burn down your house, not once but twice, I can’t help but question your judgment! By the way, we stopped by the winery first to leave our luggage. But your house was burnt to the ground!” he finished on a shout.

  “I’m sorry for lying to you, Dad. I didn’t want you to worry, and I thought I’d have it fixed by now. And you know as well as I do that Eden wasn’t responsible for either fire, Dad.”

  “I know no such thing,” Ferguson snapped, his cold words coming out in an icy cloud. “I know that she’s trouble, and she’s distracting you from your work. I left the winery in your hands, Davis. The family is counting on you.”

  The icy weight of responsibility and family expectations settled in Davis’s gut with an uncomfortable familiarity. His father always made him feel like a noisy kid getting in trouble for having too much fun. Ferguson may have spent the last thirty-five or so years in Blue Moon, but no amount of peace, love, and nosiness could mellow the man.

  “I’m aware of what’s at stake, Dad.”

  His father shook his head sadly. “I knew you weren’t ready to take the reins. I shouldn’t have let myself be pressured into it.”

  “Don’t confuse your inability to relinquish control with my business acumen,” Davis said coolly.

  “Acumen?” Ferguson’s flat eyebrows winged up his forehead. “Is that what you call slipping unapproved grapes into the vineyard? Or this ridiculous painting class idea? Who comes to a vineyard to paint? We sell wine! You need to listen to me, Davis.”

  “And you need to let go.” Davis’s voice rang out across the now empty parking lot.

  His father’s jaw dropped. And Davis realized this was the first time he’d ever stood his ground with the man.

  “I’m your son and your operations manager. But that doesn’t mean that I’m a child or some irresponsible employee who wants to ruin everything you’ve built. I want to grow what you started. I want to put my mark on it, just like you did. And I want to live my life the way I see fit.”

  Ferguson sputtered.

  “Dad,” Davis said solemnly. “You built something great here, and I want my chance at it. I’m tired of having both arms tied behind my back because you don’t trust me.”

  Ferguson threw his hands up in the air. “How could I trust you when you continue to make bad decisions? That Moody girl—”

  “Already told me I don’t have a chance with her. But she’s what I’ve been waiting my whole life for, Dad. There’s a lot more to life than just work. Community, family, love. Maybe you need some reminding. Eden reminded me. She’s smart, funny, brilliant at business. You’d be lucky to have her as part of the family.”

  “Part of the family?” Ferguson’s face changed from a ruddy tan to beet red.

  “Calm down,” Davis warned him.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! I’m sick of being told to calm down!”

  “Your heart—”

  “Is fine! I’m in the best damn shape of my life. Bryson has me eating vegetarian. Your mother hired me a personal trainer. And I meditate now!” he growled, obviously not thrilled with any of it.

  “It’s working so well for you,” Davis said dryly.

  “I’m tired of being treated like I’m an invalid.”

  “I’m tired of being treated like a child,” Davis shot back. “I can’t be you anymore than you could be your father. But if you can’t trust me with the business you started, if you don’t believe that I have the vineyard’s and the family’s best interests at heart, then maybe it’s time that I follow in your footsteps and walk away.”

  It was a pot shot. But one his father needed to hear.

  “I didn’t walk away. I was forced out.”

  “Why? Because your father didn’t think you had the family’s best interests at heart?” Davis shot back.

  “That’s not fair, Davis.”

  Davis sighed, closed his eyes for a moment and felt the December sun on his face. “You know what’s not fair? Me blaming you for keeping me from what I wanted. That’s all on me. I’m responsible for my choices just like you’re responsible for yours. Now, it’s your turn to make a choice, Dad.”

  Davis took a breath and ignored the set of his father’s jaw.

  “I respect you, and I love you. And I will always be your son. But you need to decide if you want me running this business. Because I’m going to want to make changes, and some of those changes might someday involve Eden Moody. If I can wear her down and she can get out of her own damn stubborn way. So, you have to choose, let me run the winery or hire someone else who will do your bidding.”

  “What has this girl done to you?” Ferguson demanded.

  Davis shook his head sadly. “You’re missing out on so much, Dad.”

  “I don’t need to be lectured by you, too. I’ve got Bryson doing enough of that.”

  Davis checked his watch, winced. “Maybe you should listen to one of us. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have someplace I need to be.”

  Walking away felt good. As did the fact that his father was still standing, not doubled over clutching his chest. One way or another, this was their new beginning.

  Dear Sheriff Cardona,

  We are writing to confess our role in the unfortunate and completely accidental fire at the home of Davis Gates. We are an innocent group of teenagers, only meaning to cause mischief with a silly stink bomb, and had no intentions of c
ommitting arson.

  Please accept this confession in the good faith it was intended. We hope this absolves Mr. Gates of any wrongdoing. He was not in on our stink bombing plan.

  We would also like to point out that if Blue Moon homeowners were required to install commercial sprinkler systems in their homes as the very intelligent and community-oriented Mr. Oakleigh recommended last year, the fire would have been immediately extinguished. Perhaps we should revisit this noble motion at the next town meeting?

  Warmest Regards

  A Pack of Regretful, Wayward Teenagers Who Have Learned Our Lesson

  50

  She was a gigantic idiot. She’d orchestrated her own unhappiness and refused a relationship with a man that she had L-word feelings for. Just to be right.

  Eden paced the five steps in front of the volunteer meal booth over and over again. She looked at her watch. “Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Did you eat as many funnel cakes as Layla?” Sammy, dressed in a bright red parka with a navy scarf wound around half her face, asked cheerfully.

  “No. Much stupider. I pushed Davis away because I was convinced that I wanted revenge, not love. I made him break up with me because I didn’t want to be with him, only to realize I’m in love with him and ruined everything.”

  “Well for shit’s sake! It’s about time you figured it out.” Sammy slapped her on the shoulder.

  “You knew?”

  “Uh. Duh. Come on, E. One look at your heart eyes when you were together and then one look at your sad puppy face when you screwed it all up. Of course you’re in love with him.”

  “I am the biggest, dumbest, jerkiest ass on the planet!”

  “You’re just stubborn. You’ve wanted to get back at him for so long, you couldn’t see anything else but that. Not even the fact that he went out of his way to tell all of Blue Moon that they were wrong about you. Basically, you’re making this all about five or ten minutes that happened fifteen years ago. And deep down, I think you know revenge won’t make you happy.”