Brad looked around the house quickly. It was perfectly spotless—he’d expect no less from Celeste—and smelled like lilacs and lavender. Or some other kind of womanly flower. His eyes landed on Celeste, and he couldn’t look away.
He felt transfixed by her soft curls as they draped over her nearly bare shoulders. Tonight, she wore a long, flowing dress that still somehow broadcasted all her female features. Brad could barely breathe, but at least her gaze seemed locked in his too.
“Hey,” she said, coming toward him. He slicked his palms down the front of his jeans so he wouldn’t touch her with sweaty hands. She stooped and scooped up a little black dog. “This is my pup, Midnight.” She stopped a few feet from him, and Brad leaned forward to pat the dog.
“She’s so cute,” he said. “I miss having a dog.”
“You like dogs?” Her blue eyes sparkled like the ocean under sunlight, and Brad wanted to dive right in.
“Sure,” he said. “My grandpa had a ton of dogs on the horse farm. There was this one named Reggie that chose me to be his human.” Brad smiled just thinking about the little corgi. “He’d sleep with me, follow me all over the farm while I worked, chase the footballs I threw.” He mentally commanded himself to stop talking.
“I thought you were a running back,” she said, setting the dog down.
“I was a tight end,” he said.
“I don’t know what that means.” Celeste put her arm in his and said, “See you later, Gwen.”
“Bye,” her sister said from her position in the kitchen, her eyes missing nothing. Brad wondered how many texts the woman could send in a minute, and he was willing to be it was a lot.
He turned and opened the door, leading Celeste through it. “You told her about us?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “But only that we were going out. Nothing about the engagement.” She said the words so smoothly, and Brad envied her for that.
“Okay,” he said, moving down the steps. “And a tight end is larger and slower than a running back. I was a receiver—I caught the ball. Or I was used as a lineman for the running backs.”
“Larger and slower.” She paused so he could open the car door for her. He’d brought the convertible again, but tonight, the top was up. “You can put the top down.”
“Can I? Last night, you seemed like it bothered you.”
She reached into her dress pocket and pulled out a hair band. “I’ll just put my hair up.” She gathered it into a quick ponytail and secured it. She beamed at him like she’d achieved something great, and maybe she had.
Brad had never seen the woman wear her hair up, so maybe this was a big step for her. He opened the door for her and watched her sit in his car. As he walked around the back of it, he closed his eyes and prayed with everything he had that tonight would go well.
For some reason, he really wanted Celeste to like him. Sure, maybe they only had six weeks, and then they’d go their separate ways. But he didn’t want to be miserable for the next six weeks.
He started the car and pushed the button to put the top down. Celeste had put on a pair of oversized sunglasses that made her look like a sexy celebrity or some sort of exotic royal. He backed out of the driveway and headed for the part of the island where Radish waited for them.
He’d called three times that day to make sure his reservation would be ready. Bradley Keith. Two people. Seven-thirty.
“You don’t seem larger or slower than the other men I’ve dated,” she said, and Brad swung his attention to her.
“I—” He had no idea what to say. He found something funny about what she’d said, and he started laughing.
Celeste giggled too. “That sounded weird, didn’t it?”
“A little,” he said, still chuckling. “How many guys have you gone out with that play professional football?”
“You would be the first.”
“You must be dating giants then,” he said. “If I’m not bigger than them.” He was, and he knew it. She did too. He couldn’t buy a suit off the rack, and he had to special order his shoes. He was tall, and broad, and if she hadn’t dated a professional athlete before, he was definitely bigger than her other boyfriends.
“Not dating giants,” she said, putting her hand over the top of the door and letting the wind push against it. “Just losers.”
“Ah,” he said. “Well, we almost won the Super Bowl a couple of years ago. But I never did, so I guess, technically, I’m a loser too.”
“You know what I mean,” she said.
“Do I?” he asked, slowing for a stop sign. He checked traffic and then looked directly at her. “Maybe you better tell me what makes a loser for Celeste Heartwood. I’m sure you have a list.”
She opened her mouth, and Brad saw the moment his words hit her—and hurt her.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “That was rude. I’m sorry.”
“Rudeness,” she said, turning away from him. “Definitely makes the list.”
“I’m sorry,” he said for a third time. “It’s just…you weren’t wearing the ring at breakfast, and you’re not wearing it now, and I thought maybe the rules had already been thrown out the window.”
She reached into her purse and produced the ring, sliding it neatly onto her fourth finger.
“Okay,” he said. “So what else makes the list for being a loser?”
“Unemployment,” she said, her voice carrying a bit of sarcasm.
“Oh, I have a job, sweetheart.”
“Not able to commit,” she said as if he hadn’t spoken.
He’d been engaged twice. He could commit. Brad said nothing as the sign for Radish appeared up ahead, the letters swimming before settling into their proper places.
“Unable to compromise,” she said. “Flirting with other women while we’re out. Having more than one girlfriend. Expecting me to pay for everything. Asking for free rooms at the inn.”
Brad looked at her. “Wow, Celeste. Have men really done those things to you?” He wanted to smack them all upside the head. Shout at them that they had someone amazing right in front of them, and how dare they treat her like that?
The thoughts made his throat tighten, because did he really think she was amazing?
Yes, he thought. She was. Maybe she wasn’t exactly his type, but that didn’t make her less than wonderful.
“Yes,” she said. “Every guy I’ve ever dated.”
“Well, maybe you’ve been dating the wrong type of men.” He pulled into the Radish drive-through to let the valet take the car. Their conversation stalled as he got out and walked over to her side of the car to let her out.
He appreciated that she gave him the chance to be a gentleman, and as she laced her arm through his again, an electric thrill ran up his arm and across his shoulders.
“I’ve only dated men from Carter’s Cove,” she said. “So if I stop doing that, there’s only tourists left.”
“Or men who grew up here, left, and came back,” he said without missing a beat. He smiled at the man who opened the door for them and moved right past all the people waiting to the hostess station. “Bradley Keith,” he said. “I have a reservation.”
The same woman from last night looked up from her complicated chart and said, “Of course. Right this way, Mister Keith.”
Oh, so tonight it was Mister Keith. Whatever. He secured his hand in Celeste’s and followed the hostess to a quiet, private booth out of the way of foot traffic. “This is great,” he said. “Thank you.”
Once he’d sat down, she handed him his menu and then Celeste’s before walking away. He flipped it open as if he’d really read it. He could read. Of course he could. He’d made it through college with tutors and extra help. Everything just took so long, though, and he hated that even going to dinner was a chore for him.
Their waiter arrived with a bottle of wine and another man who poured water for them into two glasses. “Wine tonight?” the waiter asked, and Brad looked at Celeste. He wouldn’t have any, as he was
driving. That, and he’d never acquired a taste for alcohol, despite his grandfather’s best efforts to educate him about bourbon. Or maybe because of that harrowing experience where the whiskey had burned his nose and throat for hours.
“None for me, thanks,” she said. “But I would love one of your frozen raspberry lemon virgins.” She smiled at him with all the power of a princess, and Brad realized she’d completely mesmerized him.
He cleared his throat as he looked away. “I’ll have a Coke,” he said. Totally normal. Mundane. Laid back. That was just how he was.
“I’ll get those drinks in,” he said. “Would you like to hear the specials?”
“Definitely,” Brad said, because that was what he’d order. No menu needed. If there was a steak option—and at a place as fancy as Radish, there would be—he’d get that.
The waiter started rattling off their fresh fish of the day, “locally caught by Carter’s Cove’s own Alissa Heartwood,” and a sausage risotto that actually sounded good. He finished, and said, “I’ll be back with the drinks and to take your orders.”
“Is that your sister?” Brad asked, though he already knew it was.
“Alissa, yes,” Celeste said, unwrapping her silverware and placing her napkin on her lap. “She’s actually opening her own fish monger shop next week.”
“That’s great,” he said, truly meaning it. “What does she do right now?”
“She’s the head baker at the inn. We all work there.”
“But she won’t, after she opens the shop.” Brad watched her, looking for signs of what that meant for the family.
“Right,” Celeste said, utterly nonplussed. “But my other sister’s boyfriend is taking over the job.”
“I see. Do significant others have to work for the inn?”
“Of course not.”
“Because I heard a rumor that Olympia’s boyfriend is a consultant for Heartwood.”
Celeste narrowed her eyes. “Where did you hear that?”
Brad wanted to pull at his collar, but he reached for his water glass instead. “Nowhere.”
Leaning back in her seat, she folded her arms and glared at him. Brad chuckled, because it was actually kind of fun to see her irritation.
“I’m doing a penthouse remodel at the Kipton Monoco,” he said. “I overheard the manager talking about Chet. He wasn’t happy that he was at Heartwood.” He gave her a small shrug. “That’s all.”
“Well, he shouldn’t be happy,” Celeste said. “Chet’s smart, and we’re glad to have him.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“And it’s not true about having to work for us,” she said, still plenty of bite in her tone. “Alissa’s boyfriend doesn’t do anything for the inn.”
“Noted,” he said, wishing he could drown himself in the water glass. “So, Celeste.” He exhaled heavily. “What do you do for fun?”
“Fun?” she repeated, as if she didn’t understand the meaning of the word.
“Right,” he said. “Fun. For example, I like to fly kites on the beach. When it’s really windy, it’s awesome.” He smiled at her, almost the way he would a scared child who was nervous to meet him. And he’d experienced that before, as the Florida Falcons did a ton of community outreach programs, especially in the lower income neighborhoods in Tampa.
“I like to watch documentaries,” she said, reaching up tucking her hair behind her ear. She became soft in that moment, and Brad watched all of the anger and annoyance flow out of her.
“You’d get along with my brother-in-law,” he said. “Bella’s husband? She’s closer to Olympia’s age, but her husband loves documentaries. Especially historical stuff.”
Celeste nodded, those blue eyes back to sparkling instead of searing. Their drinks arrived, and he ordered the steak special while she pointed to the menu and ordered a chicken dish he’d never heard of.
With that done, she lifted her bright pink concoction to her lips, and Brad’s body burst into flames watching her sip it. “Mm,” she said, her eyes drifting closed. “I love this drink.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he took it out. “I have to keep it on for work,” he said. “I have five active construction sites right now. Do you mind if I check it?”
“Of course not,” she said, swirling her straw in her drink.
But it wasn’t a job-related text. Horror still struck him in the heart, and he sucked in a breath.
“What?” Celeste asked, but Brad couldn’t speak. He just slid the phone across the table to her. She held his gaze for another breath, and then looked at the phone.
He closed his eyes, Bella’s text ingrained on the backs of his eyelids.
You’re ENGAGED?? Call me right now!
Chapter Eight
“Well, so much for that secret,” Celeste said, her heart somewhere in the bottom of her stomach.
“How do you think she found out?” he asked. “You haven’t told anyone, right?”
“No one,” she confirmed. “You?”
“No one,” he said. “I don’t have a ton of friends anyway.”
“I have my assistant,” Celeste said. “And I did tell her about you today over lunch. But just because you stopped by yesterday, and I didn’t mention that we were dating. I didn’t wear the ring at the office.” Her nerves skipped around her bloodstream, though she’d known this would happen. Nothing stayed a secret on Carter’s Cove for long, even though more than half of the population consisted of tourists right now.
“What should I do?”
“Call her if you want.” Celeste pushed his phone back toward him. She’d just wanted one more night of them being a secret. Who had told his sister? She’d been wearing the ring for maybe twenty minutes.
“I’m not calling her on our date,” he said, tucking his phone back in his pocket. He looked at her again, and with the dim lighting, she couldn’t really tell what he was thinking or feeling. She knew she was a tangled mess inside, going from miffed one moment to sighing the next.
If she had a list for the type of man she liked, Bradley Keith would check all the boxes. Of course, he’d marked one on her rude list too—and he’d quickly apologized.
Three times, she told herself. Andre had never apologized for anything, and he’d left her stranded at the ferry station on the mainland once. Not a single sorry had ever left that man’s lips—and she’d gone out with him for months, broken up with him, and then gone out with him again.
So Brad apologizing three times in the span of sixty seconds was a vast improvement.
“There’s a music festival this weekend,” he said, and Celeste perked up. “Would you like to go with me?”
She blinked, sure this wasn’t her reality. “I’d really like that,” she said.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I mean, we knew people were going to find out.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I feel like maybe I should’ve told my family first, though, you know?” She nodded toward his jacket pocket. “Like, your sister seems mad.”
“So maybe we just need to tell them.”
Celeste felt torn right in half. Her parents still lived on the island, and she was close with them. Her father had just been over to fix the toilet for her and Gwen. “I thought we were going to lie as little as possible.”
“So what do I tell Bella? No, it’s not true?”
Celeste had seen plenty of movies with fake engagements. It would work out. “No, we need to go along with it. It’s six weeks. Then we’ll just break up, like we decided.”
“I wish I’d never gone out with Carmen,” he said miserably.
“Tell me about the engagement that only lasted six weeks,” Celeste said, as she had dozens of questions for this man seated across from her.
“That would be the one to Tamara.”
“There’s more than one?” Celeste had no idea such a public figure could have so many private details. And even more surprising was she wanted to know every one of them. The good, the bad, the ugly.<
br />
He considered her for a moment. “Did you ever meet with a bride named Emily Taylor?”
Celeste cocked her head, the image of the cute blonde popping immediately into her mind’s eye. “Yes,” she said.
“She was my fiancée too,” he said. “She called things off after a couple of months.”
“Why?”
“Well, let’s see,” he said, exhaling. A chuckle followed. “I didn’t know tonight was going to be a confessional.”
“You don’t have to say,” Celeste said, reaching for her mocktail again. But oh, she wanted to know.
“Tamara and I had been together for a long time. It was the next step to get engaged and then married. So I asked her. A few weeks into it, she said I was married to my job, which I’ll admit. I kind of was. That engagement lasted six weeks, and she hadn’t even chosen a date yet. I don’t think she liked me very much. She liked the idea of me. The idea of being a professional football player’s wife. That kind of thing.”
“That must’ve been hard.”
“It wasn’t easy,” he agreed.
Celeste appreciated how vulnerable he was, which was another surprise for her. He clearly knew how to put his best foot forward, what with the sexy suit coat jacket over that white shirt but paired with jeans. The dazzling smile. The perfectly sculpted hair. Yes, he was dashing and charming in all the right ways, yet also laid back in a way Celeste envied.
“So that was the shorter one. Emily and I…we knew each other growing up. She has a couple of kids, and when I moved back here, we reconnected. We were friends more than anything, and I guess it made sense to ask her to marry me?”
“Did you just phrase that as a question?” Celeste asked.
“I did.” He chuckled. “It was obvious we weren’t going to get married. She called it off before things got too out of hand, thankfully.”
“Yeah, thankfully,” Celeste said. “So do you want to get married?”
He coughed over his soda and lifted his napkin to his mouth. “This is really forward talk for a first date,” he teased.
Not Her Real Fiance Page 5