Page 38 of The Wedding Fake

“Of course,” she agreed, and as she slipped by, she reached up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek softly. “Thanks, Hudson.”

It didn’t mean she was interested in me. On the contrary, I assumed her purposeful use of the name ‘Hudson’ instead of ‘Hud’ let me know this was all a ruse, and yet I couldn’t help the soaring excitement in my chest.

“Welcome back, Hudson,” Juliet said. “Where were you off to today?”

I had the feeling Juliet was asking questions she knew the answer to, but I replied, “I went to see my parents. They live pretty close, in Cranberry Falls.”

“That is close,” she said. “I’m surprised you didn’t take Claire.”

My eyes narrowed on the squash in my hands. I didn’t know what Claire had told her mother. “I know you don’t get to see her often, and I wouldn’t want to steal any of that family time from you. Besides, my parents are coming down to the city in a few weeks, so they can meet Claire then.”

I heard a tiny inhale from Claire behind me, and I was sure I’d made a misstep. “I thought—” Juliet began.

“Jesus,” Emily interrupted, “you cut those insanely fast.” She nodded down to where I was chopping the pepper. “Forget Grant’s medical degree, we should put the paramedic in charge.”

I appreciated Emily stepping in to change the subject, which I was almost certain was purposeful, but it felt strange to have the eyes of every family member now on me. “Like I said,” I replied lamely, “it’s a hobby of mine.”

It was a hobby born of my time at the firehouse. I’d always enjoyed when the rotation had me cooking, but as a twenty-year-old I hadn’t known how to cook jackshit. I’d started with a few of my mom’s recipes, then watched some YouTube videos until my rotation was a favorite in the firehouse.

Cooking was relaxing for me, and I’d continued it right into quarantine when the pandemic hit. A year and some change later, I’d nearly perfected my knife skills and also knew how to make a great sourdough starter.

“Language, Emily,” Juliet tutted, coming to stand over my shoulder. Done with the squash, I grabbed an onion and rock cut it at a speed meant to wow my spectators. “That is very impressive, Hudson,” Juliet offered, and although her voice held no warmth, it was the nicest she’d been to me thus far. Perhaps cutting onions was step one in the long task of earning Juliet’s approval.

“Thanks,” I replied, picking up another onion. The family commenced their chatter, shifting back into their previous roles. All except Grant, who, mysteriously, gave me a single nod and said, “You’ve got this, I think.” Then he put down his knife and walked away, pulling a beer from the fridge.

Next to me, Claire picked up the abandoned knife. “Holy shit, Hudson,” she murmured, and I grinned. Surprising her was fun. “Maybe you can teach me.”

I shifted to the side, opening a space between my hips and the counter for her to slide in front of me, but she shook her head, her cheeks turning pink. “I can stay here. You show me what to do.”

I nodded, wishing she wanted to be closer to me, but understanding her hesitation. “Watch. Your left hand is going to hold the squash. Keep your fingers curled up like this, so you don’t cut yourself,” I advised, and she copied my position. “Tip of the blade never leaves the board, just the handle, and you’re going to keep the blade going while your left hand moves the squash forward.”

She tried out a few cuts, beginning with the ellipsis motion but lifting the whole knife after a few slices. The angle ruined her flow, and she stopped. It would’ve been easy to reach for her and fix it, but I wanted to respect the distance she’d put between us, so I tilted my blade again in demonstration. “Like this,” I reminded her, and she began chopping again, this time keeping her blade angled correctly. She was nowhere near as fast as I was, but she made quick work of the squash, and after her last slice she looked up at me with big eyes and an even bigger smile.

I wanted to wrap my arms around her, to lean down and take her pink lips—just a taste, because she wouldn’t want more with her family all around.

But hell, before everything had gone to shit, this had been a fake date. The idea had been to fool her family. So couldn’t I still do all those things? Setting down my knife, I cupped her cheek with one hand, brushing my thumb over her cheek. “You’re amazing,” I murmured, looking down at her. Those seafoam eyes were locked on mine, and I was willing to bet anything she wouldn’t be upset if I leaned in for a kiss. But before I could move, she sneezed, pulling away from me just in time to cover her face with her elbow.

She came up smiling widely. “Onion,” she said.

I lifted my fingers to my nose, getting a hard whiff of yellow onion, and laughed. “I’m sorry,” I replied. “I didn’t even realize.”

18

CLAIRE

What will happen if I don’t sleep for five days?

Will I die?

Go insane?

Both?

I wasn’t sure, but I was willing to bet I’d be the world’s foremost living expert on the topic by the time Saturday rolled around, because it was day two of sharing a bed with Hudson North and I was certain I hadn’t reached REM sleep in as long. One time I thought I dozed off, but then I had a nightmare I was snoring loudly next to him, and I jerked awake in a cold sweat.

I was pathetic. I knew it. Forty-eight percent of adults snored, which meant, statistically speaking, one of the two of us was a snorer. I could definitively say it wasn’t Hudson, since I’d been listening to the peaceful sounds of his slow breathing for the better part of two hours. That left me. And the idea of him hearing me snore was horrifying.

I rubbed my eyes blearily and rolled over to my side, pretty sure side-sleeping reduced snoring by some percentage, even though I wasn’t sure by how much. I’d have to look it up in the morning.