The Trouble with Faking by Rachel Morgan Page B

smells mostly of washing liquid but also faintly of Damien’s cologne and pray that my future holds many more of these weekends.
     
    ***
     
    Pale morning light filtering through thin curtains wakes me early on Sunday morning. That’s another reason I hung shawls across the window in my Fuller bedroom—they help to keep the light out when I want to sleep in. The house is quiet, so I lie in bed listening to the seagulls, checking the Etsy orders I’ve received since Friday, and reading the comments on my latest YouTube video.
     
Emmy Mills (3 hours ago)
This on my TBR list so thanks gonna read it soons.
     
Apple Turtle (11 hours ago)
OMG I’m reading this book RIGHT NOW! On page 87 and it rocks.
     
Athena O (17 hours ago)
Thank you for the review and your are so PRETTY!!
     
    One thing about YouTubers? Many of them have atrocious spelling and grammar skills. I often find myself laughing as I read their comments. And then I remind myself that the reason I post videos about books is to connect with people who love reading as much as I do—so who cares how bad their spelling is?
    I reply to the comments—even the ‘your are so PRETTY’ one, which creeps me out a tiny bit—then put my phone down and climb out of bed. I heard someone go downstairs a few minutes ago, which means it’s safe for me to emerge. I pull a robe on over my pyjamas and open the door.
    “Morning,” Damien says as I reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, having clearly just woken up. I’m not the swooning type, but seeing him half-asleep, shirtless, and with his normally neat hair all messed up, my insides start to feel a little jelly-like.
    I croak out a “Good morning” as he reaches into his bag for a T-shirt and pulls it on.
    “Andi, would you like some coffee?” Laura asks from the other side of the counter that separates the lounge from the kitchen. “I remember you being a big fan of our coffee machine.”
    “That would be amazing, thank you,” I say, forcing myself to turn away from Damien. “But, um, I didn’t think you’d have milk.” I cross the room and lean on the counter.
    “Oh, we drink almond milk.”
    “Imagine my surprise,” Damien says, appearing beside me, “when I discovered you can milk an almond.”
    Laura rolls her eyes. “Don’t start that nonsense again.” Turning to me, she adds, “It’s delicious, Andi.”
    “Cool, I’d love to try some.”
    “Great. You two can go on outside, and I’ll bring you your coffees.”
    “Oh, I’ll just have water,” Damien says. He grabs a bottle of still water from the fridge.
    “Are you sure I can’t help you?” I say to Laura.
    “Of course. Off you go.” She waves us away, and we walk out the sliding door and onto the balcony. I lean on the railing and look out at the rippling water. Damien stands next to me, and I’m acutely aware of his arm on the railing right beside mine.
    “Did you sleep okay on the couch?” I ask, hoping to distract myself.
    “Yes, it was fine. Did you sleep okay in my bed?”
    Heat tingles in my cheeks, and I look away so he won’t see me blush. “Yes. It was also fine.” Go for a real distraction this time, Andi. I breathe in the salty air and watch several yachts bobbing in the bay. “It’s so beautiful here. Like another world. If I were you, I’d come here all the time.”
    “I used to. I visited a lot last year. I’d bring friends—those who were keen to get away from res for a weekend—but I stuck to solo visits after Noah spent a weekend here.”
    “Oh, why?”
    “My parents had just started the vegan thing, and Noah made a number of comments. I know he was joking, but my parents don’t get his sense of humour. They found him really rude. Mom told me not to bring my lower class friends home anymore.”
    I frown. “She called him lower class?”
    “Yeah, well, you’ve met Noah. He and his family aren’t exactly—”
    “Here you go, Andi, honey.” I turn around as