A Flighty Fake Boyfriend (Men of St. Nachos #2) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,33
my adult card.”
His smile lit the room. “What do you need that for?”
He had a point.
Today he had a point, I amended.
I dressed and followed him outside. In-room dining had delivered an array of healthy options—yogurt, fresh fruit, oatmeal, and green tea. It all tasted the same to me, but I ate what he put in front of me.
Not satisfied with that, he picked out the choicest berries from his stash and practically said here comes the train.
“C’mon. Eat. It’s good for you.” He picked the berries up with his fork, one by one, and I ate.
“Thank you.”
“You’re scaring me a little this morning,” he said seriously.
“I think the twelve-hundred-mile drive finally took its toll.”
“Because man was never meant to go over twenty miles an hour,” he said dryly. “It couldn’t possibly be because last night you were faced with the inescapable truth that your ex has moved on with his life.”
“Of course not,” I lied. “We were over ages ago.”
He spooned up some of his oatmeal. “I know you can hear yourself, so I won’t be a jerk and point out the obvious.”
“You just did.” I put my cup down. “What’s the object of saying you aren’t going to point out the obvious when you go right ahead and do just that?”
His eyes fell to his bowl. “I’m sorry.”
I glared at him for another three seconds, then felt ridiculous for starting a fight. “Me too.”
He checked his watch. “Exactly one hour from now, we’re going swimming.”
“Oh, are we?” I asked with a defiance I didn’t feel. Yet somehow, I ended up hanging onto the side of a rainbow-maned unicorn pool float while Epic, in his Speedo, sprawled on it like a porn star.
“How is this helping?” The ball of grief in my stomach hadn’t diminished. Sadness continued to surface on waves of memory like bioluminescent foam.
“It’s perfect. It’s early yet, but the sunshine will still do wonders for your mood.”
“Can the sun even get in after you slathered me head to toe with SPF 50 waterproof sunblock?”
“I know you’re not trying to tell me I shouldn’t take care of you.”
“Maybe I’m telling you exactly that?” I would have sworn I couldn’t pout anymore, that petulance wasn’t in my closet of coping mechanisms, but there we were. “I can take care of myself.”
“But you’re in luck, baby cakes, because you don’t have to. What shall we do this afternoon? I know. Let’s get your ears pierced.”
“What?”
“You’d look hot with pierced ears.”
“Why don’t I just go bald and grow a ponytail?”
He frowned at me. “I don’t think you’re taking me seriously.”
“It’s not you. It’s piercing my body parts. Pierce your own ears.”
“They are.”
I edged around the float to look. “How come you’re not wearing earrings?”
“I forgot to pack the ones I like.”
I rested my cheek on the warming white plastic. “You could pierce something else.”
“We could get matching tattoos.”
“No, we couldn’t. You could get one.”
He put a finger to his temple. “I’m sensing a theme.”
I led him straight there. “I hate needles.”
“That was the theme.” He smirked. “Afraid of a little boo-boo?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “And I’m not ashamed to admit it. Next suggestion?”
“More art galleries?”
“Next?”
He sighed, “There’s always Solvang.”
“What’s that?”
He overset his unicorn in his eagerness to tell me, which was how, three hours later, I found myself walking the cobbled streets of a Danish-themed town that did double duty as a living history museum and secretly led the life of a tourist trap.
“Wow, another store full of wooden shoes and candle-powered whirligigs,” I said, after the fifth shop exactly like it.
He sped off to another display of hand-crafted wooden toys. “The magnetic kissing cow salt and pepper shakers you got will be a great Christmas gift for someone.”
“No one I actually know.”
“Don’t be such a downer. This is fun, right?”
“Of course.” I wanted to say no, but a lifetime of honesty prevented it.
“You know you want aebleskivers.”
“I know no such thing.” What sounded like an incurable rash turned out to be round pancakes flavored with cardamom. I read the menu, and they didn’t sound bad. “Do I want them stuffed?”
“Trust me, they’re the one thing you don’t want stuffed this weekend.” Heat flooded my face when Epic put his arm around me. “Real aebleskivers are plain with raspberry coulis and powdered sugar. Stuffing them is gilding the lily.”
“I think I saw a potholder with that saying on it three stores ago.”
“We’ll make a convert of you with these. I promise.”
He ordered plates of medisterpolse and round, fried pancakes. “You’ve got