Faker

by Sarah Smith

  The second the last words leave my lips, I bury my face in my hands and groan.

  Tate’s soft chuckle floats past the curtain. “How so?”

  “Sorry, I mean that it feels naughty to take a bath. They’re pretty indulgent, using all this water for one person. Growing up on an island, showers were the rule. My mom would get pissed if she caught my sister or me taking a bath. Said they wasted so much fresh water, and we needed to be less wasteful.”

  “I see.”

  The world’s most awkward laugh falls from my lips. “This is weird.”

  “Kind of, yeah.”

  “A good weird, though. Don’t you think?” I bite my lip. Thank goodness for the security this shower-curtain barrier gives me.

  “‘Good weird’ is the perfect way to describe it.” It sounds like he’s smiling.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” I blurt out.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something that shows me you’re vulnerable too.” It’s an odd request, but I want it. I need it. “I’m sitting next to you, naked. I’d say that’s a pretty vulnerable position. Tit for tat, right?”

  My face burns at my phrasing. Tit. Excellent word choice.

  “Okay,” he says. “I’m deathly afraid of spiders. Whenever I see one, I freeze.”

  I smile. “I would have never pegged you for an arachnophobe.”

  “It’s not a phobia,” he says sternly. “I just don’t like them.”

  “I get it. I’m the same way with snakes. Though I’d say that’s a definite phobia for me.” Lying back in the water, I run my fingers through my hair to rinse out the shampoo. The scent of fruit hangs in the humid air. “What else?”

  There’s the soft tapping of his sneaker against the tile. “When I was eight, my parents planned a birthday party for me and invited all my classmates. My birthday is February twenty-fourth. There was a blizzard and none of the kids could come because the roads were iced over and there were accidents all over the city. So I spent my birthday alone.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “She wanted to see Disney Princesses On Ice in Kansas City that weekend, so our grandma took her.”

  Pain hits my chest. I lean up and turn to my right to face him. Even though we can’t see each other, the movement makes me feel closer to him. “That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

  He lets out a soft chuckle. A handful of silent seconds follow before he speaks. “It ended up being perfect. I didn’t want to have a birthday party in the first place, but my parents made me invite all those kids because they didn’t want me to celebrate alone without Natalie. But honestly? I just wanted to have the day to myself. They thought it was weird. I remember when my mom told me none of the kids could come, I burst into this huge smile and ran to my bedroom. I built a blanket fort and stacked my favorite comic books inside it. My parents felt so bad at the party fail that they let me eat as many slices of cake as I wanted. So I ate, like, an entire Funfetti cake in my blanket fort while reading comic books all day.”

  When he finishes telling the story, I’m grinning. “That’s hilarious. And wonderful.”

  Through the shower curtain, I see the silhouette of his arms run along the tops of his thighs. The soft sound of fabric rubbing fills the bathroom.

  “It always cracks me up to remember that day,” he says.

  All those times I’ve seen Tate eat lunch by himself in his office spring to mind. He doesn’t approach anyone at work unless he has to for a work-related reason, and he always sits by himself at meetings. It makes sense now. He’s a lifelong loner.

  “I guess I should cancel the surprise party I have planned for your next birthday,” I say.

  Another chuckle. I wish I weren’t stuck behind the shower curtain so I could witness his expression and the way his body moves when he laughs.

  The mood in my sauna bathroom is light, easy. This closeness is new, but when we chat, we’re like old chums sharing stories.

  After I finish scrubbing and rinsing, I stand. The sloshing noise of the bathwater streaming off my body causes Tate to sit up.

  “Mask is still on, right?”

  “Of course.”

  I step out of the tub and onto the bath mat, carefully toweling off. When I look down, I see my shin is inches from his knee. With the soft cotton wrapped around me, I stand and stare. He sits perfectly still, hands on the tops of his thighs, his back straight as an arrow. For a moment, I wonder what he would do if I sat on his lap, if I leaned into his ear and whispered, “Thank you.” Would he run his hands over my cold, wet skin? Or better, his mouth?

  My foot slides toward him, but I stop when my toes are less than an inch from his shoe.

  “Everything good?” he asks.

  In an instant, my back finds the wall. “Yep.”

  When I open the door, steam flows into the living room. I slip on a loose-fitting tank dress from the laundry basket still in my living room.

  “Decent,” I call out to him.

  “Cool. Give me a sec.”

  I collapse onto the couch. It’s a minute before he steps out of the bathroom. He walks to the end of the sofa, his face red.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  He nods, sporting a flustered expression. His chest heaves, and he coughs a few times, his watchful gaze on me. It makes me feel as naked as I was in the bathtub minutes ago.

  “Feel better?” he asks.

  “Much.”

  He hands me my sleeping mask. “Would it be okay if I came over again tomorrow?”

  “I’d like that.”

  Leaning over me, he plants a kiss on my forehead. His hand grazes my cheek. “Best if we keep things PG, don’t you think? For the sake of your recovery.”

  I nod, despite my hope for something mouth to mouth. He’s right though. If our first kiss was any indication, our mouths are dangerous weapons when left unchecked.

  I nod.

  “Get some rest, okay?”

  Quiet footsteps lead him back out the front door. When the door shuts behind him, I sink into the couch. The throb between my legs is back with a vengeance. This feeling is more than arousal, though. It’s a spark, a connection, the beginning of something new.

  fourteen

  Every single day since our bathtub session last week, Tate and I have connected. Days are spent texting each other sweet comments, jokes, or silly videos. Most evenings we cuddle on my couch. He always leaves me with a forehead kiss and a caress on the cheek, just like that first day he visited me. We both remark, usually with huffy breaths, that we prefer kissing with tongue, but I’ve got a body to heal.

  The one time he couldn’t make it, he texted to let me know, then I received a grocery store delivery of pineapple and young coconut. I didn’t even have to hack away at the impossibly hard coconut shell. It was peeled and sliced, ready for me to chow down.

  Seeing this whole new side of him is the reason for the ever-present swarm of butterflies in my stomach and why I wake up with a smile on my face each morning. Who knew Tate Rasmussen, the no-nonsense hard-ass, could be devastatingly sweet?

  This morning is sweeter though. My first day back at work. Ten days postsurgery and I’m aching to return, not because I miss Nuts & Bolts, but because I’m itching to see Tate at work. We can finally spend all our working hours in this new bliss bubble we’ve created.

  Through nerves and residual soreness, it’s a wobbly walk to my office. I scale the stairs fine, but the moment I turn the corner, my knees forget they’re supposed to bend. Forcing myself forward, I make my way to my office and sit at my desk. When I look to Tate’s open door, he’s turned away, his broad back and curly hair in full view. A tickle-kick hits my gut. The last time I laid eyes on him in this building, tension, frustration, and a bevy of other negative emotions pulsed through me. Everything about this day—the
section of building we share, how we look at each other, the way we talk—will be different after our time together.

  He stands up and disappears, but a split second later, he’s back in my line of view, exiting his office. Then it happens. He takes his first ever step into my space. I look down at his sneakered feet, which stand a full foot inside my doorway, four inches from the edge of my desk. Let the record show Tate Rasmussen entered my office for the first time this second Tuesday of September. Snowflakes are forming in hell. Winged pigs are soaring above. I never thought I’d see the day.

  “Welcome back,” he says softly.

  “Thanks. Hi.”

  “Hi. How are you feeling?” It’s the same question he’s asked me every time he’s visited, but it still gives me shivers. His smoke-hued eyes pull a full-body once-over on me. Every day he’s seen me, he’s done that, and every day it’s given me goose bumps. Tingling, thrilling, delicious goose bumps. He’s examining me, in a caring, watchful way, like he’s making certain I’m okay.

  “Fine. I mean, good. I feel good overall.”

  “I’m glad.” His smile goes from toothy to lips only. Even after seeing him beam every day this past week and a half, I still can’t decide which one I adore more. Both slay me. Even more so now that he’s doing it in my office.

  “Thank you. For everything.” I remember I haven’t thanked him in person for the mango delivery. I’ve seen him almost every day since, yet not a word. What horrible manners I have. “Especially the mangoes. And the pineapple and coconut. That was . . . I don’t even . . .”

  For someone whose profession is to formulate words forty hours a week, I’m doing a dismal job of articulating myself. Flustered, I rub the back of my neck.

  “They’re all I’ve been eating. Sorry, I forgot to say that on the days you came over.”

  He breaks eye contact with me to stare at the floor. He shuffles his feet and meets my eyes once again before lowering himself to the chair in the corner. “I hoped you’d like them.”

  We stare at each other in silence for the next few seconds. This is the first time we’ve spoken under this roof with zero animosity tumbling between us. Before we can say anything else, there’s a muffled thud from inside Will’s office. Our heads twist in his direction.

  “Ow, ow, goddamn it!” Will shouts.

  We burst out in laughter at the exact same moment. I clutch my abdomen, whispering, “Ouch!” between breaths. Cackling this hard kills, but it’s worth it. I’m finally laughing at work with Tate. He’s looking at me with affection in his eyes. There’s a soft burst in my chest. It’s my own affection for him.

  He catches his breath. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just very sore still.” I wince. “Laughing is surprisingly painful when you’ve had surgery on your lower abdomen.”

  “I’m supposed to forward you an email about a new line of chain saws, but maybe I shouldn’t. The cutting, the sharpness. That could bring on some terrible flashbacks for you.”

  The fake worry on his face sends me into a fit of painful giggles.

  “Shit, sorry,” he says a moment before Will bursts out of his office.

  “Oh, Emmie! How are you? We were worried about you.” Will wrings his right hand as he walks toward me.

  “I’m fine, thanks. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I was trying to take some photos of those Star Wars figures I’ve been meaning to sell online for ages, and I accidentally dropped a box of them on my hand.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. I don’t think my stomach can handle another cackle.

  Tate sits silently while Will asks me questions about my hospital stay, then I ask him about his toy sale on eBay.

  “It could be great side money for me,” Will says. “Loads of people love Star Wars. Who knows how much they’ll pay for vintage toys.”

  I chuckle along with Will. After a week and a half away, I’ve missed his antics. I nod while listening to Will and peek at Tate pursing his lips, failing miserably to keep the wide grin off his face. There’s nothing overly funny in this moment. Will is just being Will, but there’s something lighthearted, something giddy in the air. It’s clearly having an effect on the two of us.

  “My cousin made a killing selling one of his. What was it? Not Chewbacca . . .” Will says, gazing at the ceiling deep in thought.

  I shoot a playful helpless stare at Tate. I need him to keep a straight face if I have any hope of doing the same. Otherwise, I’m going to bust an incision. I point at my stomach and make a sad face. He takes a breath. In no time his neutral face is back. He winks at me before turning his focus to Will. A breath catches in my throat; my heart pauses before resuming its regular beat. I had no idea Tate could be this playful at work. I can barely take how much I adore it.

  Will’s phone rings, and he darts to his office to answer it.

  “Your trying-not-to-laugh face is incredible. I thought I was going to rupture one of my incisions.” I shoot him the first nonserious glare I’ve ever given him.

  “I guess I’ll have to practice that one more. Excuse me for a sec.”

  His hoodie-clad shoulders take up a good chunk of the open doorframe as he walks out of my office and in the direction of the men’s bathroom.

  A minute later, a teddy bear the size of a toddler fills my doorway. Lynn’s head pops from behind the fuzzy brown mass.

  “A little get-well present!” she announces excitedly.

  I let out an embarrassed laugh. “Wow, Lynn. You shouldn’t have.” The teddy bear is almost half her size. It must have cost a pretty penny. She’s a sweetheart, but this gesture is above and beyond.

  “It’s not from me. It’s from Jamie from Sawyer Custom Contracting.” She winks before setting the stuffed bear at my desk. “I ran into the delivery guy downstairs and offered to pass it along to you.”

  My jaw drops. Jamie. The sexy contractor I’ve been flirting with. I haven’t thought of him in days.

  There’s a white card stuck to its paw with a short message:

  Thinking of you. Get well soon! Jamie

  “What a sweet young man to send such a thoughtful gift. I didn’t know you two were an item.” She lingers in my office, like a mom coaxing information from her child about their significant other.

  “Whoa,” Tate says before settling behind his desk.

  “Isn’t it something?” Lynn claps her hands before twisting around to address Tate. “It’s not often we see such a romantic gesture around here.”

  “Romantic gesture?” Tate blinks away the warmth on his face. Needlelike goose bumps hit the back of my neck.

  Lynn turns back to me. “That Jamie fellow must be smitten.”

  I need to say something, anything, to make Tate understand this teddy bear business is one big misunderstanding, but I’m too flustered to formulate the proper words.

  “We’re not an item,” I bark. Judging by the scowl on his face, I’m about a minute too late with that crucial piece of information.

  Lynn’s sweet high-pitched giggle claws at my ears. “Well, he must think so by the looks of it.” She nods her head toward the gift.

  A frustrated breath booms from my chest. I look past her to focus on Tate. He’s giving the bear his best death stare. I’m surprised it doesn’t crumble into itself.

  “Tell Jamie nice job.” His voice is hard again. My heart sinks.

  “They’re not . . . It’s not . . . I don’t know why he sent me this.” My tongue feels too big for my mouth. Why can’t I translate the dread I feel into the proper words?

  The longer I stare at Tate, the harder he clenches his jaw. He turns away to his computer before I can say another useless word.

  “We are not involved, I promise.” My volume is a beat under a shout. Lynn jumps slightly at the tone, while Tate remains perfectly motionless in the space behind her shoulder, s
till staring at his computer screen.

  “Oh. Okay, then.” Lynn’s wide-eyed stare indicates my sharp tone is totally work inappropriate. “Actually, would you mind popping into Will’s office for a sec?”

  I follow her inside and shut the door. Will’s eyes go wide at the sight of Lynn, who gives him a disapproving glance. He nods and kicks a box of action figures under his desk, like a little kid who’s been told to put his toys away. I’d laugh if I weren’t about to get reamed by two managers for raising my voice in the workplace. Fantastic.

  I take one of the chairs across from Will’s desk, while Lynn takes the other. I’m in full-on work mode. It’s a struggle to contain my panic about what Tate saw and heard, but first I need to throw on my professional mask and get through this meeting.

  “How are you feeling?” Lynn asks with concern.

  “Fine. Still a little sore, but I’m doing well otherwise. Sorry about how I sounded earlier. I just—the gift was a surprise, that’s all.”

  “No, I understand,” she says. All prior giddiness has left her. “If Jamie’s actions make you feel uncomfortable, you should tell someone.”

  I shake my head. I just want to move past this teddy bear debacle and get out of here. “It’s not that at all. Jamie and I have become friends since meeting on the worksite. The gift was a friendly gesture. I’m sure of it.”

  That’s a blatant lie. I’m positive Jamie sent it with romantic intentions, but I don’t want to get into that mess. Downplay and move on is the only way I can think to move Lynn off this topic.

  “I see.” She looks relieved. “It was partially my fault for getting so excited about it. Like I said, you don’t see too many big romantic moments around here. In my day, a gift like that equaled romance. I’ve got a lot to catch up on it seems.”

  I dig my claws into the arms of the chair. I need to get out of here and rush back to Tate so I can explain how that stuffed bear means nothing.

  “Also, Will and I want talk to you about a different matter. I meant to meet with your first thing this morning, but the gift delivery distracted me.”