He wasn’t lying. Although they were best known for an item that wasn’t in Nash’s oversize hands.

“No shakes?” she teased.

“Nah.” He shook his head and made his way over to the little two-person table tucked into the corner of her kitchen. “You gotta get those in person so you get the overage in the silver mixing cup.”

Oh yes, the overage. It was an amazing bonus that made the divine shakes even better. “Good point.”

“What?” He kept his face down, but there was no missing his smug grin as he took out the foil-wrapped cheeseburgers and then ripped the paper bag holding the fries so that it unfolded and made the perfect basket for them. “That isn’t mansplaining?”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Nash.” Chelle tucked her water glass in the crook of her arm and took two plates out of the cabinet, then took them over to the table. “Just accept the win.”

He laughed. It was a good sound, the kind of friendly, happy sound of a man who did it often. “Does that mean I get to feed you french fries while you tell me all about what you’re doing in your room?”

She rolled her eyes and sat down. “It’s not that interesting.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said as he took the seat across from her.

Bracing herself for more questions, Chelle unwrapped her cheeseburger and took a bite before putting it down. Then she did her best to keep her gaze on her plate as she loaded it with fries and several large squirts of ketchup, because looking at Nash while he ate wasn’t an option. Whatever a poker face was for food, he didn’t have it. Instead, it was just raw appreciation for the deliciousness in his mouth. The bad ideas it gave her were delicious in a whole other way.

Fuck. They said your forties meant a whole new level of constant sexual awareness, but this was ridiculous. She was a grown-ass woman with a healthy self-care orgasm routine. The last thing she wanted was a hulk of a man disrupting her with things she couldn’t have.

Luckily for her, once they started eating, the deliciousness of Vito’s cheeseburgers and fries superseded conversation. If Nash thought about a more efficient way she could use her fries as edible scoops to deliver massive amounts of ketchup, he kept his mouth shut about it. They were both finishing up when his phone buzzed.

He picked it up off the table, and his face scrunched up when he looked at the screen. “Our first date is set.”

Ah yes, the reason for this whole farce for him—the Last Man Standing bet. Her pulse picked up in anticipation, which was really not what she needed right now. Couldn’t he just be completely unappealing? Wasn’t that what everyone wanted in a fake husband?