Public Relations

Chapter Nine

"You really don't have to help with the dishes," Lucy says, grabbing the washed plate from my hands and drying it off with a towel.

"It's fine. There are only a few left anyway." Plus, I have a perfect view of August in his gray button-up and dark jeans, standing in the backyard with his dad. They're looking at the new Traeger grill his dad bought a few weeks ago. August is bending down to inspect it, and his butt is perfectly framed in my view through the kitchen window as I rinse the soapy suds off the plate.

After everyone found out about our fake dating situation and we swore them all to secrecy, we sat down for dinner. I trust them not to breathe a word—even Lucy. She may have spilled the beans to her family, but Lucy's too sweet and tender-hearted to hide anything from Clara. She's the type who would shoo a fly out the door instead of swatting it because it might have a family. But knowing Andrea, she'll probably still make everyone sign NDA forms, just in case.

August's parents didn't probe much into our staged relationship, but Clara's expression across the table while we ate Mrs. Williams' homemade lasagna—a recipe passed down through four generations of Italian women—made it clear she wasn't going to let it go easily.

After dinner, August and his dad went outside while his mom took a last-minute call for a client, leaving the rest of us girls to finish tidying up.

Clara clears her throat from the other side of me, and I tear my gaze away from August to look at her. She stands there with her unruly curly brown hair pinned back in a claw clip, holding a bottle of wine in the hand adorned with tiny stars, dots, and petal-like tattoos. She tilts her head at me with a smirk and I give her a forced smile back that hopefully says, I wasn't looking at anything. Especially not your brother's ass.

"More wine, Maisie?"

"Please."

I rinse off the last plate, dry my hands on the towel Lucy hands me, and take the glass of wine Clara pours. "Thank you."

"So, fake dating, huh?" Clara says. Her tone suggests she already knows the answer to whatever she's about to ask. She leans against the counter behind her, wine glass hovering near her lips. "What does that entail exactly?"

"Oh, well, we just have to go out a few times, make sure the paparazzi get some pictures. That sort of thing. Nothing too crazy." Except for the fact that it is crazy, and I can barely hold his hand without internally freaking out.

"Does that mean you have to, like, kiss and stuff with my brother?" Lucy asks as she slides the strawberry rhubarb pie she made earlier at Sugar Moon Bakery across the counter. She cuts three even slices and starts serving them on plates.

"Oh, um, well..." My voice comes out about four octaves too high. I shrug as nonchalantly as possible, though it feels like my shoulders reach all the way to my ears. I take a sip of wine. "I'm not sure."