Chapter 3

THREE

Evie

Yeah, of course, he knows about what I said.

I was hoping he wouldn’t find out, that maybe the whole thing would blow over and be forgotten. But nope, it’s just my luck that the very next day, he knows. Of course, he knows.

My face heats up with a blush, and I bury it in my hands before he can catch a glimpse of the redness. God, I’m never going to live this down.

“Evie?” Hendrix’s voice breaks through my embarrassment, low and gravelly, carrying that hint of impatience he’s never been good at hiding.

I guess there’s no getting out of this now. I might as well rip off the bandage.

“I told Claire and her friends that we were dating,” I blurt out, peeking at him from between my fingers, bracing for impact.

“Okay.”

I pause, confused. That’s it? Just ‘okay’?

“They kind of cornered me yesterday at the bookstore after work. Claire’s the worst. She and her friends are just... mean girls.”

“Okay.”

I want to scream. Could he give me anything here? Some reaction, any hint of what he’s thinking?

“They were making fun of me.”

That does it. His whole demeanor shifts. His blue eyes darken, his jaw sets, and his mouth thins into a hard, angry line. For a second, I forget my own embarrassment because Hendrix looks like he’s about to throw something or someone. I take a small step back, unsure.

“What were they saying?” he snaps, his voice sharp, demanding.

I swallow hard.

“It’s not important. Just the usual stuff.” I mumble, hoping to gloss over it, but the look on his face says he’s not going to let it go.

“They said I was fat, and that’s why I’ve never had a boyfriend.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the sting of their words still fresh, but I push through. “Something in me snapped, and before I could stop myself, I blurted out that I was seeing someone. That someone was... you.”

“Damn right, it’s me.”

I stop short, blinking up at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He looks away, clearly flustered, but now I’m even more confused.

“No, what does that mean?” I press, needing to know.

“I just mean,” he says slowly, “if you’re dating anyone, it would be me. You don’t hang out with any other men in town.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks, a little hope dashed. For a moment, I thought... well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Wishful thinking.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I can tell them I lied, that I’m not seeing anyone. It’s fine, really.” I start rambling, dreading the idea of facing Claire and her minions again but willing to do it if that’s what he wants.

“No.” Hendrix’s voice is firm, and my eyes snap to his. “I’ll go along with it.”

I stare at him in shock.

“You will? Why?”

He shrugs, trying to play it off as no big deal. “I prefer to be left alone.”

“I’ve noticed,” I reply dryly, and he rolls his eyes, which makes me smile despite the tension.

“Having a girlfriend will stop people in town from trying to set me up.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. Hendrix rarely goes into town and barely even interacts with people unless he has to. I handle most of his grocery shopping and errands. The man is practically a hermit, but I’m not about to question it now.

“So, we’re going to fake date?”

“Fake?” he grumbles, sounding almost offended.

“Yeah, fake. This isn’t how I’d start a real relationship. I mean, I’d expect my date to, you know, ask me out.”

He’s quiet for a moment, as if actually considering that. I shake my head.

“So, we fake date,” I say more confidently. “It’ll keep people off your back, and Claire and her friends off mine. Deal?”

I shove my hand out between us, offering it to him.

His much larger hand engulfs mine, and the touch sends a small jolt through me. I look up at him, and his gaze is intense, almost too intense. There’s a spark in his eyes, something that makes my pulse quicken.

“We should talk about the details,” I say, pulling my hand back and trying to sound casual. “We need to get our story straight in case anyone asks.”

“I doubt anyone cares,” he mutters, unwrapping his sandwich.

“They already have!” I remind him, exasperated. He sighs, and I unwrap my own sandwich, thinking about what we need to figure out.“Okay, where did we meet?”

“We’ll just go with the truth. Work,” he says, taking a bite.

“Right. And how long have we been dating?”

He shrugs. “A few months?”

“Be realistic. People would have seen us together if it was that long.”

“Fine. Weeks then.”

“A few weeks,” I agree. My phone rings from the table, but I ignore it.

“Who asked who out?”

“I asked you,” he says without hesitation, and I nod, trying not to read too much into that.

“And where did we go on our first date?”

He pauses, then answers with surprising certainty. “The steakhouse over in Dillon. MacArthur’s. They have pumpkin soufflé and garlic mashed potatoes.”

I blink. “My favorite.”

“I know.” His voice is quieter, almost too soft, and I find myself staring at him, wondering how much he really notices about me.

“That should be enough to start,” I say, my voice a little shaky. “If anything else comes up, just try to stick as close to the truth as possible.”

“Got it.” He gives me a nod, and I finish my sandwich, tossing the wrapper.

“Thanks for lunch.”

“Anytime.”

We lock eyes again, and for a second, everything else fades. There’s something between us, something unspoken, but it lingers in the air, thick and electric. I can’t name it, but I can feel it, and it sends a strange thrill through me.

Maybe, just maybe, this fake relationship might not be so fake after all.

As I turn and head back to my desk, I can’t help but wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.