Part-Time Lover (Part-Time Lover #1)(35)

“Do you really believe this marriage is just business?”

“What do you believe it is?”

“A recipe for you to fall for his hot Viking ass while you play house.”

I scoff. “Veronica, don’t you know me by now?”

“Yes. And that’s why I worry about you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. It’s all under control. It all makes sense. It’ll be fine.”

“Famous last words.”

Drumming my fingers on the counter, I attempt again to deflect. “How about that cinnamon stick?”

She hands me one, and I lick it, savoring the spicy, sweet heat.

“And you think you’re a cinnamon stick,” Veronica adds.

“I assure you, I’m not into licking myself.”

Laughing, she points at me. “Don’t try to sidestep the topic by making me laugh at your dirty bird side.”

“You’re a dirty bird too,” I fire back.

“Be that as it may, my point is this—you think you’re tough and fiery, but you’re really . . .” She pauses, scanning the shelves of confectionery before she grabs a bag of gumdrops, shaking it in her fist. “You’re a lemon gumdrop.”

“Aren’t they sour?”

“Exactly. People might think you’re tough, but on the inside you’re sweet and gooey.”

“That’s not a very pleasant image. Perhaps you don’t deserve this scarf.” I tug it from my bag and hug the ruby-red silk number close to my chest.

She drops the gumdrops and makes grabby hands. “Don’t keep the accessory from me. But don’t deny you have a soft inside either.”

“Hardly.”

She stretches a hand across the counter, grabbing my forearm, imploring me. “You think you’re nails and stone since Eduardo, but you’re still that woman who believes in love. I know you. I know you are.”

I bristle at the suggestion, raising my chin. “Love is for other people.”

“I love you like a lemon gumdrop, and I think what you’re doing is noble and also dangerous as hell,” she says, dropping her grip as she moves to rearrange bonbons under the display case.

“We laid out all the rules,” I say, with a bit of urgency in my voice. I want her to know I can handle this.

“But don’t you like him?”

“Of course I like him. That’s why I want to help. We both gain something from this, and I enjoy his company. There are far worse ways to spend the next three months.”

She arches a brow. “You enjoy his company? Can you be any more clinical?”

I sigh heavily. “It’s true. I like being with him, and I want to help.”

“And what happens when you start to like him beyond enjoying his company?” she asks, sketching air quotes.

“I’ll stop that from happening.”

“How do you stop it? Do you truly think you can stop yourself from falling?”

“Yes,” I answer in a split second. I believe it because I have to believe it. Because it’s the only way to live.

“Look, I’d like to buy into that too, but it’s not my experience. I was falling for Lars the boat captain, and the thing that stopped me was that we don’t live in the same country.”

“And the thing that will stop Christian and me is an expiration date,” I say, keeping my focus on the practical aspects of this decision.

“An expiration date isn’t the same thing as the whole damn country of Germany being between you. Lars and I texted after I left Copenhagen. I thought I could put him behind me, but I couldn’t, so we kept in touch. We tried to make plans, but we could never be free at the same time, so I had to let it go.”

I smile, trying to make light of the complications she’s outlined—complications I’ll have to be wise about. “Have a scarf.”

I hand her the silky snake of fabric, and she tosses it around her neck. She pouts saucily and juts out a hip in a pose.

“Lovely.”

“In any case, my little lemon gumdrop, since you’re going to do this anyway, all I will say is this—keep your eyes wide open. Be aware of all the potholes. There are booby traps literally everywhere. If you want to come out of this with your steel heart—cough, cough—intact, you need to have your guard up in a whole new way.”

“Guard up. I’m on it.”

“Oh, and take some lemon gumdrops. You’ll need fortification.” She winks and hands me the bag of candy. Her expression turns serious as she sets it in my palm. “And I’ll be here when the expiration date passes. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“There is no expiration date on our friendship.”

“It’s non-perishable,” I say with a smile, then I thank her and leave. As I wander up the block to my home, I pop in a gumdrop. It’s tart at first, as promised, but then it’s all soft and sweet.

As if it’ll melt into you.

Surely I’m no lemon gumdrop with Christian. I’ll be a fiery cinnamon stick. Even though, as I open the gate to my home, delighting in the blaze of yellow tulips, I wonder if he likes candy that’s a little bit tart at first but then sweetens as you savor it.