Page 72 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“Like you’re about to bake me something and stage an intervention.”

“I don’t bake. I assemble pastries with emotional intent.”

“Worse.”

She leans back, sandwich forgotten now. “So, they want you to show up with someone.”

“Apparently, a woman proves I’m rehabilitated.”

“That is horrifying.”

“Yes.”

“And wildly sexist.”

“Yes.”

“And very Winterberry Cove.”

“Also yes.”

She presses a hand over her mouth.

Then she laughs.

Not meanly.

Not softly either.

She laughs like the situation is so terrible it has become structurally impressive.

“Good luck finding an idiot to⁠—”

She stops.

Her eyes change. I see the idea arrive. Daisy sits up straighter.

“No,” I say.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought loudly.”

“Maybe I have a solution.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“I do.”

“You can’t. I’m complex and surprising.”

“You’re going to offer to be the idiot.”

Her grin flashes before she can stop it.

Fuck.