rejected before.”
For some reason, he found that difficult to believe. “By who?”
“Kevin,” she said easily, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened, her cheeks darkened. She mumbled behind her palm, “Oh dear. That sounded rather pathetic.”
He dragged her hand away from her face. “No, it didn’t. Kevin’s got the sense of a rock, and nothing you say or do could ever be pathetic. You’re a fucking superhero.”
She swallowed, her gaze fluttering to the tattoos on his arm. “I take that very highly, coming from you.”
“You should.” He meant it. He’d never meant anything more in his life. He’d also never been more pissed off in his life. “Fucking Kevin. I bet he’s an ugly little toad.”
“He’s quite handsome, actually,” she said, sounding aggrieved.
“Of course he is. They always are.”
“And Billie’s very pretty. They suit each other.”
“Don’t act like you’re not beautiful. You know what you need?”
She didn’t respond—just stared at him with a stunned expression that made him play his words back. Don’t act like you’re not beautiful. Well, she was. But he had no idea why he’d mentioned it when they didn’t usually discuss that sort of thing. His face heated slightly.
Finally, she re-hinged her jaw and said, “Um, no. What do I need?”
“You need to beat him at his own game. If he’s bringing his pretty wife, get yourself a pretty boyfriend.”
She laughed and lifted her glass of lemonade. “I need wine when you’re like this.”
“I’m serious.” He wasn’t, and they both knew it. But this game was chasing the shadows from her eyes, so he’d play it forever. “When’s the convention? How much time have you got?”
“A few weeks. You think I should hunt down a date?”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Waste of time,” she tutted, clearly fighting a smile. “I don’t even like men.”
Oh, for God’s sake. “Best bullshit I ever heard. When we walk into a room it takes you thirty seconds to clock every hot guy in there.”
She gave an outraged gasp, eyes wide, lips half-curved into a reluctant smile. “That is not true.”
He waited.
“Fine! It’s true. But looking at men and dating men are two very different things—and trust me, I have no desire to date anyone. Ever.”
The words seemed to echo with finality, like she’d just cast a terrible spell. Zach paused, taken aback by the vehemence in her voice. Was this an aftereffect of divorce? It would make sense. He wanted to ask, to push, to figure out exactly why the thought of romance made her narrow her eyes and speak like a peal of thunder. But the look she speared him with said loud and clear: Don’t.
So he didn’t. “It’ll be a means to an end. We’ll get you on Tinder or something.”
“Ugh. I predict sad or disgusting dick pics and other forms of harassment.”
“I’ll be your Tinder manager. Let me vet the messages and delete the dick pics for you, madam. What are friends for?”
“You’re ridiculous.” But she liked it. He could tell by the look on her face; that wild, reckless amusement lighting her up. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “It has occurred to me that maybe I should bring a friend. For support. I suppose your idea is just a more extreme version of that.” Her expression changed, embarrassment creeping in. “Is it weird that I’m actually considering this?”
He blinked. Unexpected, maybe, but… “Who cares if it is? Weird can be good. Weird can be great. Would it make you feel better to go with someone who had your back?”
"They wouldn’t need to have my back,” she admitted. “All I want is fewer pitying looks. I really hate pitying looks.” She stared into her lemonade like it was a crystal ball—and whatever she saw in there seemed to make her feel stabby.
“That’s fair,” Zach murmured. Growing up in a gossip-hungry town like this, with a single mother and a disappearing brother, he knew a few things about pitying looks himself. His dad had run off with a beekeeper, for Christ’s sake. He’d felt the acid burn of strangers’ sympathy for too many years to count. He didn’t want Rae—proud, brilliant, accomplished Rae—to feel a thing like that, especially when she should be high on her own success instead.
And that was it. Maybe he’d been joking before, but now he was deadly serious. “This is a solid plan,” he said. “You’re doing it.”
She sighed. “I don’t think so. It seems kind of—”
“If you say pathetic I will force-feed you my homemade donuts.”
She pressed her lips together and