“Oh.” She cringes, suspiciously eyeing the cakes. “I’m not here to eat cake. I’m dairy free, gluten free, and I don’t eat carbs.” She pushes the tray away with a disgusted look on her face.

I roll my eyes to myself and move to pick up the tray, but before I can get to it, Harley shrugs, murmuring with his mouth full, “All the more for me” as his hand reaches over the flowers, taking one of the red velvet samples.

“Harley, no!” I yell without thinking, but it’s too late. He’s already shoved the whole thing in his mouth, looking up at me in confusion, mid-chew.

“Wha—?” He guffaws with a mouthful, cake crumbs spluttering from his mouth.

Slapping my hands against my cheeks in exasperation, I know there’s nothing I can do now, so I just choose to play dumb with a casual shrug.

“These are real good, Murph,” he manages once he’s swallowed. “I prefer this one over that lemon one.”

I nod, my eyes widening momentarily when he takes yet another cake sample laced with laxative. Forcing myself to look away, I bite back the laughter threatening me. Of course it isn’t funny but, at the same time, it kind of is. I’m a terrible person.

“So, you two are actually a couple?” Beth suddenly pipes up, tearing her focus away from her phone, which has been otherwise permanently attached to her hand.

Harley flashes me a look as he licks a dollop of chocolate ganache from his thumb.

“Yeah,” I answer, turning away and busying myself with wiping down the glass front of the cake display cabinet.

“So weird …” Beth muses, and I can see a smirk pull at her lips in the reflection of the glass I’m cleaning.

At that, I turn, placing a hand on my hip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs, casually continuing to scroll through her cell. “You just don’t look like his type is all,” she says with a conniving quirk of her brow, and I wonder if she actually expects me not to take offence to that.

She is right, though. I’m totally not Harley’s type. In fact, we couldn’t be more different. At six foot two, he’s imposing, his arms and most of his chest covered in tattoos. He’s the kind of guy who likes to be seen. The life of the party. And even though he’ll never play football again, he’s still a total jock, obsessed with sports. He’s never been one to take life too seriously. And, of course, it goes without saying, he’s a good-looking guy. Green eyes, unruly chestnut hair, and an infectious smile with the most adorable dimples. As Sarah kindly reminded me after news of mine and Harley’s fake relationship hit social media, Harley Shaw is the most eligible bachelor in all of Graceville. All the girls love him.

Me? Well, I’m five foot three, with wide hips, pale skin, auburn hair, dark eyes, glasses. I’ve always been a total dork. I hate tattoos; I just don’t see the point of permanently marking your skin just for the sake of it. And, unlike Harley who yearns for attention, I do everything I can to keep to myself most of the time. I fear attention. I’d rather stay in with a good book or a movie instead of going out just to be seen. I’m also the most serious person I know. I don’t take anything lightly. I’m nothing like Harley Shaw, and I’m nothing like the kind of girl a guy like Harley Shaw would go for. We’re best friends, not boyfriend and girlfriend.