Page 99 of Fake it ’Til Fall

“Yes,” Winnifred says brightly. “It’s romantic. We should definitely lean into the fall energy. Hot cider. Pumpkin patches. Grump in knitwear.”

“You make this sound like a Yelp review for a haunted inn.”

“It worked for Soren.”

“Soren is not an inn.”

“No, but he was haunted.”

I cannot argue with that.

The front bell jingles out in the café, faint through the back-room door. Bea glances toward the sound but doesn’t move.

“They can wait,” she says.

“You are a business owner.”

“I am witnessing history.”

“You are avoiding customers.”

“Both can be true.”

I turn back to the phone. “What else?”

“Third thing,” Winnifred says. “You need one controlled version before Winterberry eats this alive.”

“I thought the version was the story.”

“The version is what you say. The controlled version is what people see.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

“No. Absolutely not. We are not doing a fake date before it’s necessary.”

“Call it a public appearance.”

“Worse. Now I feel like a mayor with lip gloss.”

Bea picks up a jar of cinnamon sticks and writes something on the inventory sheet. “You’re already pretending to date a man for optics. You are past dignified vocabulary.”

I glare at her. “That was unnecessary.”

“It was free.”

Winnifred hums. “It doesn’t have to be anything dramatic. Something small in Boston. The café, maybe. Somewhere someone can plausibly see you together and report back that it looked natural.”

“No,” I say. “The Turning Page stays ours.”

The words come out too fast.

Bea looks at me.

Winnifred goes quiet for half a second.

“What?” I ask.