The Fake Mate

“does it look straight?”

I hold the curtain rod as still as I’m able, my arms starting to burn as I wait for Gran’s approval.

“Mm,” I hear behind me. “Maybe a little more to the left.”

I groan, moving an inch on the step stool. “I’m buying you a level for Christmas.”

“You’re doing a fine job,” she assures me.

I roll my eyes, knowing she can’t see me do it. “Here?”

“Oh, that’s perfect,” she informs me. “Do you need the screws?”

I shake my head, pulling the pencil from my ear and marking on the wall where the rod holders will go. I step down from the stool after, dropping the rod gently against the pile of Gran’s new curtains on the floor.

“You’re gonna have to give me a minute,” I tell her, rolling my shoulder. “You had me holding that curtain rod for half an hour practically.”

Gran clicks her tongue. “You’re still young. You’re fine.”

“Still,” I grumble.

“Well, get your gripey little butt in the kitchen, and I’ll make you some coffee.”

“That sounds more like it.”

I leave the project that she tricked me into taking over at the sliding glass door—following her into the kitchen and plopping down at one of the padded stools at her kitchen island. She busies herself with the coffeepot, warming what’s left from the morning, pulling down two mugs from her cabinet.

I take the spare moment to check my phone, frowning when I notice that Noah still hasn’t replied to my text from this morning. I know he has work today, and that it’s not a big deal that he would be too busy to respond—so why do I keep checking like some twitterpated teenager? His text from last night had been pretty sparse too; he’d said something about being tired from a long day and told me he was going to bed, and that’s completely normal, expected even—it’s just me who’s being weird.

If I’m honest with myself, I’ve been weird for days. Weeks, even. Since we left the lodge and started doing things that felt very much not pretend. Between the date and spending the weekend together and cuddling on couches and the constantly growing desire to see him, to talk to him . . . everything feels unclear. I can’t seem to decide if what we’re doing is something we should keep doing. Not because I don’t want to—on the contrary, because I want it too much. I’ve been happy to hide in the bubble that was a limited agreement that would end the moment Noah left the hospital, but now in the face of that, after everything . . . Well. I’m definitely experiencing several of those complications that Noah had been so worried about.

“You’re going to stare a hole in the screen if you keep up like that,” I hear Gran say from across the counter.

I turn up my head abruptly. “What?”

“What’s got you so absorbed in your phone?”

“Oh.” I frown again, shaking my head. “Nothing. Just checking my texts.”

“Looking for something from Noah?”

I notice Gran’s expression is smug, and I roll my eyes. “You are way too invested in this.”

“Is it so bad to want my granddaughter to be happy?”

“I am happy,” I stress. “Meeting Noah hasn’t had any effect on that.”

The coffeepot beeps, signaling it’s done, and Gran purses her lips as she gives her attention back to it. “Tell that to your phone,” she tuts. “Haven’t ever seen you so glued to it before.”

I could dodge the question, and that’s probably what I should do—but Gran already thinks that this whole thing is real. Maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal to get some advice.

“Is it weird when someone suddenly stops texting you as much?”

Gran turns to hand me a mug, setting it in front of me. “What do you mean?”

“I just . . .” I blow out a breath. “It’s not a big deal or anything, but Noah usually texts me back pretty quickly. Like, annoyingly quick, even, but . . . I don’t know. He’s been sort of radio silent for the last couple of days.”

“Did you two get into a fight?”

“No?” I think back to the last time I saw him. Sure, the whole debacle with him mentioning dinner with his mother and me having a whole-ass moment about it was uncomfortable, but I’d been pretty sure it was only me who had felt that. Noah had seemed oblivious to my inner turmoil. “He said he was tired last night. Maybe he just had a bad day and I’m reading too much into it.”

When I look up again, Gran is beaming, and I sense I’ve said too much.

“Don’t,” I say before she can start.

She shrugs, still smiling. “I’m just saying—it seems like you really like Noah.”

“Well, I . . .” I’m not sure how to navigate this conversation, knowing that Gran thinks this whole thing is real, and I struggle to find the right words. “I mean . . . he’s a nice guy. We get along really well.”

Gran takes a slow sip from her mug, thoughtfully eyeing me over the rim. She makes a satisfied sound when she swallows her coffee, staring at me for a long few seconds as she considers.

Eventually, it makes me squirm. She only gives me this look when she is about to scold me. “What?”

“I’m just wondering how much longer I have to pretend that I don’t know you’ve been trying to pull one over on me.”

My mouth falls open in surprise. “Wha—What do you mean?”

“Mackenzie,” Gran says, not looking upset but instead almost amused. “Have you forgotten that I raised you through the teen years? I might as well have a PhD in reading your lying face.”

I feel at a loss; there’s no way I could have prepared myself to be cornered by five-foot-three Moira Carter. In fact, I had been so certain that we were getting away with it, the possibility of telling her the truth hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“How long have you known?”

“Since you brought him over,” she says matter-of-factly.

I feel myself reeling. “How could you tell?”

“Honey,” she laughs. “The man didn’t even know you were an omega. His eyes got as big as saucers when I mentioned it.”

“I . . . Shit. Why have you let us go on like we have?”

Gran chuckles. “Because I could tell you liked each other. Even if you didn’t know it yet.”

“You could?”

“The both of you were sneaking glances every other second like you couldn’t help it. Seemed like the two of you were so deep in your lie you couldn’t even make out the truth of it.”

I consider that. Sure, at that point there had been attraction between us; I practically begged him up to my apartment that night, after all, but I can’t imagine that there had been anything deeper than that so early on in our ruse, right?

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “It’s still probably way too early to read much into it. We’ve been on one real date.”

“Well, you did spend your heat together.”

I almost spit up the sip of coffee I’ve just taken. “How in the hell do you know that?”

“Oh, Parker told me,” she says casually.

I close my eyes, pressing my lips together. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Oh, hush. He was worried about you. You were so off schedule!”

I rub my temples, having a hard time looking at her now that I know she’s aware I spent a three-day sexcation with Noah only a couple of weeks ago. “It was . . . definitely a surprise.”

“It just means you’re compatible,” Gran says.

I do look at her then. “What do you mean?”

“When two shifters have a high compatibility, it can throw off your heat cycle. The pheromones just affect you a little more.” She scoffs. “Honestly, Mackenzie. You’re a doctor. You should know this.”

“I don’t exactly have shifter compatibility very high on my list of priorities,” I deadpan.

“Well, if you gave anyone a chance,” she chides. “You find something wrong with every person you go on a date with.”

“They weren’t exactly great dates,” I grumble.

“Oh, you just wanted something to be wrong with them.”

“Model train fanatics, Gran!”

“Mackenzie Carter. You can pitch those silly excuses to me all you want, but I’m not buying it.” She sets her mug down on the counter, looking at me sternly. “We both know you’re always looking for things to be wrong with someone, because finding something right with them would mean opening yourself up to something that you can’t control.”

“That’s not true,” I mumble, looking down at my lap.

“Like hell it isn’t,” she huffs. “You’ve done it since you were a kid. Honestly, if Parker hadn’t come along, you probably would have been content to just stay in your room when you weren’t at school.”

“Listen, to be fair, you have set me up on some really bad dates.”

“Have I? Or have you just been looking for reasons to not give anyone a second date?”

“Gran, seriously, there have been some—”

“Mackenzie,” she says, her tone softer now. “I get it. There have been some stinkers. But you’re twenty-nine, and you’ve never been in a relationship that lasted more than a few months at a time. There’s always some flaw or some habit that gets in the way. He snores too much, he watches too much football, he picks his teeth after dinner—”

“Oh, come on, that one is disgusting.”

“I’m just saying,” she stresses. “You always find a reason to end things before they can even start.”

I feel an emotion welling in my chest that seems too heavy, too raw—one that I’ve spent a good portion of my life suppressing. I rub my arm idly as I avert my gaze, knowing that this, too, is something I can’t lie to her about. Not this. She knows me too well.

“It’s not like I mean to,” I say quietly. “It’s not exactly fun being permanently single.”

“I’m not saying that I blame you,” she says, reaching across the counter to cover my hand with hers. “You had to deal with a lot of hard things as a kid. Things that were way too much for someone as young as you were. Your dad . . .” She shakes her head, looking away from me. “He lost a big part of himself when he lost your mom. He couldn’t handle it. I love my son, but he wasn’t the man he should have been. He should have stepped up for you, no matter how much he was hurting.” She looks at me again, her eyes fixed on mine. “But that doesn’t have to be your life. Just because your dad left you hurting doesn’t mean everyone will.” Her eyes start to water, the wrinkles around her mouth deepening as she frowns. “Maybe I should have said all of this to you sooner. Maybe it’s partly my fault.”

“No,” I protest, my voice thick. “Gran. You guys are perfect. You always have been. I just . . . I guess I’ve just been afraid.” I feel a single tear roll down my cheek, and Gran squeezes my hand. “I wasn’t enough for Dad. I couldn’t make him stick around. How in the hell can I expect to be enough for anyone else?”

“Oh, honey.” Gran releases my hand, toddling around the counter to wrap her thin arms around my body. “You are amazing. You’re beautiful and smart and funny—Well, sometimes.”

A watery laugh escapes me, and I snuggle further into her embrace. “I get my sense of humor from you.”

“Yeah, well, you sure as hell don’t get it from your grandfather.”

We both laugh, and she pulls away to look at me, reaching to cup my face in her hand.

“You are enough,” she tells me, her eyes full of emotion. “And then some. Anyone you choose would find themselves damn lucky.”

I choke out a sound that is a mix of a sob and a broken laugh, reaching to wipe the tears from my eyes that feel both painful and somehow good. Cathartic, even. I’ve spent so long pretending none of this bothers me . . . it feels like a weight has been lifted off now that I can finally admit it always did.

Gran pats my cheek. “Even if that someone isn’t Noah, there’s someone out there who will be worth letting in. I just hope you let yourself find them.”

“Gran,” I say thickly. “I . . . think I like Noah. Like, really.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” She whistles as she pulls back. “That man is . . . Wow.”

“Gran,” I laugh, wiping away the last few errant tears from my eyes.

“I’m just saying,” she chuckles.

I bite back a grin. “He is . . . definitely something.”

“I’m sure he’s just busy. Don’t get too worked up about it. Just remember that you are amazing. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

“Okay, now you’re embarrassing me,” I groan.

“It’s my job,” she retorts. “Now finish your coffee before it gets cold.”

I’m still sniffling a little when I turn back toward the counter, Gran going back to the pot to top off her own cup. I only notice my phone all lit up when I reach to bring my mug closer, pausing what I’m doing and leaning over the screen to catch Noah’s name. There’s an undeniable surge of excitement that courses through me when I pull my phone closer, wondering when in the last month I got to the point where just seeing his name made me giddy.

I swipe open the text, his reply short but butterfly-inducing nonetheless because—

NOAH: Could we meet up after I get off? Maybe at that cafe we went to last time?

I’m grinning like an idiot as I read his invitation, realizing I’m happy just from the possibility of seeing him again. Maybe I’ve gone crazy.

I just hope you let yourself find them.

I smile, thinking that Gran might be on to something as I tap out a response.

ME: Can’t wait.

the café isn’t as busy as the last time we were here, but there are still a handful of couples and college students hanging around the trendy little tables when I step inside. Outside, the snow’s started to come down, and I dust it off my shoes, starting to pull off my coat as I look around in search of him. He’s sitting at the same booth we had our first pretend date in, and realizing this makes me smile as I wave at him. I don’t waste any time going to join him, sliding into the other side of the booth and laying my coat on the seat beside me as I give him my attention.

Noah definitely looks tired; there are dark circles under his eyes as if he’s had little sleep, and there’s a frown etched on his mouth that feels somehow grumpier than the one he’d been so fond of when we first struck up our deal.

“Wow, someone had a rough day,” I tease. “Were you yelling at nurses again?”

“I told you,” he says wearily, “that was—”

“Grossly overexaggerated,” I laugh. “Yeah. I know. But really, you look tired as hell.”

“I feel it,” he says quietly. “It’s been . . . a long day.”

“I’m sorry.” I reach across the table to trace a finger across his knuckle, lowering my voice. “I know a few good ways to relieve stress, if you’re interested.”

“Mackenzie . . .”

I’m just starting to notice that there’s something underneath all of the fatigue; his blue eyes look duller, and his hair looks messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it. He’s chewing on the edge of his lip like he’s worried about something, and it’s amazing to me that I’m not only able to pick up on these things, but apparently my first instinct is to soothe him. Honestly, I’m having a hard time not switching to the other side of the booth and wrapping my arms around him. I’m not even sure if his mood is to blame for that or if it’s just a constant desire that I have now.

“What’s wrong?” I squeeze his hand, my thumb stroking back and forth. “Did something happen?” He looks at our hands, his mouth turning down and his brow furrowing. His eyes dart around like he’s struggling to find the words, and there’s a flare of worry that flashes inside me. “Noah. Tell me. Is it Dennis? Is he bothering you again? Or is it the board? You can tell me. We’ll figure it out.”

When he finally looks up at me, he seems . . . sad. Regretful, maybe. I can’t say why, but something about the way he looks at me is uneasy. Almost like I’ve seen it before. I’m trying to place where, but it isn’t coming to me.

“Mackenzie,” he tries again. “I need you to know beforehand that this is not an easy decision for me. I never wanted to hurt you.”

My hand slips from his, too surprised to even adequately process what he’s said. Why is he still looking at me like that?

“Noah, what are you . . .”

But I can see it now. His expression. I can really see it. It’s the same one that a father wears when they tell a little girl that they can’t stay with her anymore. It’s the same one you never really forget.

“Mackenzie,” Noah says carefully, his voice tight. “I think we should end our arrangement.”