Page 85 of Fake it ’Til Fall

My heart stumbles.

My mouth saves me.

“Grumpy,” I say, picking up the sandwich.

He grunts.

And there it is.

Our first official term of endearment.

This is the beginning of a beautiful fake relationship.

We’ll fake it until the end of fall.

What could go wrong?

Other than my entire personality, obviously.

Chapter Eleven

Forrest

By Saturday morning, I have made three mistakes.

One, I agreed to fake date Daisy Thorn.

Two, I let Daisy Thorn write most of the rules.

Three, I brought the rules home.

That last one is on me.

Nobody should read semi-legal documents before coffee. Especially when the legal document is handwritten in ink, titled “The Ten Rules of Fake Dating a Wolfcraft,” and includes the phrase “beloved hockey gargoyle” under an alleged pet-name emergency clause.

Puck sits beside my kitchen table, staring at me with the solemn disappointment of a dog whose breakfast was served three minutes late and whose owner is clearly making poor life choices.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell him.

His tail thumps once.

“You wanted this.”

Another thump.

“You put your head on her foot. Repeatedly. That’s basically entrapment.”

Puck licks his nose.

No remorse.

Typical.

When I look out the window, I notice someone across the street has placed three pumpkins on a stoop, all of them too round to be trusted.

Daisy would like them.

She’d probably name them. Assign them personalities. Make one the leader of an underground organization dedicated to taking down spice lattes before December.