Tease (Cloverleigh Farms #8)(33)

“Because Hutton asked me not to.”

Millie’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“I can explain, but I want to get off the porch before I run into them. Can we go for coffee somewhere?”

“We can,” said Millie, “but you might run into a lot of people pointing and whispering. This is a small town without much else to talk about, and you guys just set it on fire.”

“You’re right. Okay, let’s go to your house.”

I followed Millie to her house, and we sat at her kitchen table with glasses of iced tea. Millie’s house wasn’t as big or fancy as Hutton’s, but I’d always loved its cozy vibe, complete with white picket fence, covered front porch, and arched interior doorways. She had beautiful taste too—the hardwood floors and molding were stained a deep, rich brown, the walls were light and neutral, and her furniture was vibrant and colorful.

Her two cats, Muffin and Molasses, came into the kitchen, and Muffin jumped into my lap. I stroked her as I told Millie about the reunion, the evening at Hutton’s house, and the hushed conversation he and I’d had behind his closed bedroom door while his ecstatic family—including the Clipper Cuts—made a celebratory breakfast.

“So wait . . .” She held up a hand. “You spent the night in separate rooms? Nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened, but . . .” I squirmed in my chair. “I sort of wanted it to.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Keep going.”

“I don’t know, something just seems different between us.”

“All summer? Or starting last night?”

“Maybe it’s been all summer. It’s hard to say—I feel close to him, which is kind of crazy since we went a long time without seeing each other. But when he moved back and we started hanging out again, it was like no time had passed at all—and also like there was some new layer there.”

“Sexual tension?” she prompted, a gleam in her eye.

My eyes dropped to Muffin’s soft gray fur. “Yeah. But it’s scary to think about crossing that line.”

“That’s understandable. You’ve been friends for so long, it’s harder than crossing the line with a stranger.” She took a sip of her tea.

I pushed my glasses up my nose. “And what if I’m wrong? What if he isn’t into me that way? What if he really was knocking on my bedroom door to ask if I was thirsty?”

“Wait.” Millie set her glass back on the table with a thump. “He knocked on your bedroom door after you guys had gone to bed last night?”

“Yeah.” My face warmed. “Without a shirt on.”

“He’s into you that way,” she said confidently.

“Also, he kissed me this morning,” I confessed, a smile tugging at my lips.

“Oh?” Her eyebrows arched.

“It was just for show—his sister was taking pictures—but it was nice. Right after that was when he dragged me into the bedroom to say we should keep up the ruse so his mom and everyone else in town will stop bugging him about being single. He needs peace and quiet to work.” I told her about the Congressional hearing. “He’s really nervous about it.”

“I don’t blame him. That would be scary for anyone, but especially for someone with anxiety.” Millie tapped her chin. “So the plan is to keep up the charade until he leaves for D.C.?”

“I think so. We haven’t really discussed the ending yet.”

“But you’re not actually going to plan a wedding, are you?”

I glanced out her kitchen window. “I’m not sure. But I am moving in with him.”

“You’re moving in with him?” Her eyes bulged.

“Yes. He suggested it this morning, to make it look more real . . . right after I suggested we practice kissing.”

She gasped. “This is nuts, Felicity.”

“But it could be kind of fun, you know?”

“Lying to everyone?”

“Not that part, but—the moving in and the practice kissing and the make-believe at being in love and even the fake planning a wedding. I mean, what if I never do any of that for real?” I asked, growing flustered. “I’m not like you and Winnie. I’ve never had guys knocking down my door. I’ve had like three boyfriends ever, and none of them lasted more than a few months.”

“That’s because you break up with anyone that says ‘I love you.’”

“We’re not talking about the past,” I said quickly.

“You brought it up.”

“What if it never happens for me, Millie? What if it never feels right? Why shouldn’t I get a chance to experience what it’s like?” I’d gotten so worked up that Muffin was spooked—she jumped off my lap and ran away.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Millie said gently. “As long as you’re sure this isn’t going to end badly, I’ll go along with it.”

“You have to.” I begged her with my eyes. “You can’t tell anyone it’s not real. Please. Just let us have this for a month.”

She crossed her heart, locked her lips, and tossed the invisible key over her shoulder. “I won’t say a word. Especially because I think it is real—part of it, anyway.”