He’s the perfect fake boyfriend: charismatic and convincing. Maybe too convincing…
Food truck owner Steve Groff is laying low. That revenge song that’s sweeping the country like vitriolic wildfire? It’s about him. His ex hasn’t outed him yet, but he knows it’s coming. And even though he really is a good guy, the hateful tune is haunting him from coast to coast and has him sincerely wondering, Am I the asshole? Firmly stuck in identity crisis mode, the last thing he needs is a relationship of any kind. But the people-pleaser in him can’t resist when a sexy shop-keeper offers up a fake-boyfriend quid pro quo. What’s that saying about those who don’t learn from the past?
Maeve Morrison has ex problems of her own when hers pops up after years of radio silence. Caught off-guard and woefully unprepared to face him or his new fiancée, she grabs the nearest customer and begs him to be her stand-in boyfriend. An easy-enough plan until things escalate, and she and Steve are suddenly co-catering her ex’s wedding. In a week.
Now, despite their best efforts, they’re falling hard for each other while fighting just as hard to keep their skeletons locked firmly in the closet. But can two people still drowning in the fallout of their failed past relationships trust a new one built on lies?
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Chapter 1: Maeve
“Jillian, I can tell you’re a wine-tasting kind of gal. Am I right, everyone?” Just as Maeve predicted, the small class of misfit olive oil tasters all pivoted on their stools to look at Jillian; they chuckled as they nodded in agreement.
And, just as Maeve knew she would, thanks to a quick social media search the day before, Jillian’s back straightened as she announced, “I’ve been to Napa four times.” She even held up four perfectly manicured fingers—including a ring finger with a giant diamond—so anyone struggling to keep up with what the number four meant could understand her comment. How considerate of her.
“I thought so. Now, as we’ve been swishing around our glasses with one hand cupping the bottom, we’ve been warming our olive oil and releasing some of the amazing aromas sealed in there with that handy little lid you each got. Jillian, what do you think we’ll do next?”
She’d wrapped up the answer in such a neat little package a toddler could have guessed at what would come next. But Maeve had done a few classes before where she hadn’t laid it on as thick and the customers had stared back at her, dumbfounded. Their faces screamed, “How the fuck should I know? That’s why I’m here; to learn what to do!”
Not Jillian, though. Sweet, sweet Jillian fell right in line. Her bright red lips formed a broad smile, and she gave the person next to her, her husband of seven years according to Facebook, a look that said, “See what a star you’ve married?” Then she addressed not only Maeve but also the rest of the class as to how they should stick their noses way down into the stemless wine glass, as far as it would go, to pick up the various scents and aromas that were released.
Once everyone had followed Jillian’s expert instructions and identified the different smells of the oil she’d selected for the first round of tasting, Maeve instructed them to pour it onto the plate in front of them and taste it using the freshly baked bread bites that were on each of the three high-top barrel tables as well.
From trial and error, she’d figured out that traditional olive oil tasting, the actual swishing and swallowing of olive oil all by its lonesome, was a very niche experience few people would pay top dollar to have. But olive oil paired with fresh bread? That was where the money was, even if it wasn’t technically following official tasting protocol.
For the next hour, Maeve played to her audience as she led them through the basic olive oil flavors: fruit, garlic, mushroom, and more. Each round ended with a palate cleanser of green apple which she sliced fresh as they tasted.
Maeve had spent her undergrad years bartending and she’d perfected the art of matching the right story with her given audience. Through a bit of social media digging prior to the class, and from initial interactions, she pegged this group as a “live vicariously through her” group—so long as she kept her stories light, they were happy to hear them.
As the tasting continued, she filled the silence with history about olive oil and stories about her trip through the Mediterranean where she’d done some tastings of her own in preparation for opening her tasting shop, Olive What She’s Having.
Throughout her years in the service industry, she’d found laughter was the key to everything: customers were more forgiving, were willing to leave larger tips, and tended to let down their guard so that they could fully enjoy whatever experience they were engaged in. She was careful to include only the stories that involved humor and happy endings.
This meant she always left out the only reason she’d taken the trip solo: Jackson, her fiance at the time, had gotten cold feet. He’d backed out of the trip and their future together at the last minute. Literally. They were supposed to meet at the airport and he didn’t show. Instead, he’d sent a text message:
I can’t do this.
No, no one wanted to hear the story about her abject dumping, her brief determination to symbolically flip him the bird by making it on her own, or the drunken mess she’d turned into during the eight-hour flight over. Instead, they were with her to escape their own shitty lives. Together, for one hour, Maeve pretended her life was nothing but silly little misunderstandings that turned into great conversation pieces, and everyone in her class left their troubles at the door as Maeve guided them through a bit of drizzly culinary heaven. A simple thing to do given their surroundings.
The basement room, a former speakeasy, had walls of stacked stone that created a large arch along the ceiling down the length of the room. She’d installed outlets and had electricity, but to maintain the ambiance of the historic stonework, she did her best to hide modern technology. She especially loved the candles she’d placed around the perimeter and at the center of each table.
Now she looked around and sized up the clientele. She liked to guess what post-class purchases each group would make based on the session and what she’d researched beforehand. There was Jillian and hubby–they looked like they were good for a case or four. Doubtful they’d get through all of it before it went bad, but they were the type that liked everyone to know they had enough money to go to Napa four times and to purchase four cases of fancy olive oil, whether they needed it or not.
With them at their table was the only person to show up to the class by himself. With her still somewhat fresh heartbreak, she didn’t make it a habit of checking out the customers. And yet she couldn’t help but notice and admire his toned physique, slightly tall build at just over six foot, and silky dark brown, almost black hair that was neatly tied up in a bun at the back of his head. Not something that she normally found attractive, and yet she’d glanced at his ring finger during one of the tasting rounds and was pleased to see it bare.
He had a bag full of books about marketing from the indie bookshop a few streets down, and from his online profile she knew he was the owner of a food truck. She was counting on him to buy at least a few bottles to test out with his business, maybe more in the future.
The middle table was a group of older women, reminiscent of The Golden Girls. They’d maybe get a bottle each, a little something to liven up their meals. Likely they’d only signed up for the class for something to do. Next week, they’d be in some back room learning how to make their own candles or soaps.
The last table was a trio of middle-aged men who were doing an extended food tour of New England. They’d had breakfast in Gloucester before making their way up to Bearskin Neck for the night. Olive What She’s Having was a way to get in a quick snack between shopping and sight-seeing before grabbing dinner by the water. Given the sole purpose of their trip was to sight-see and eat, Maeve knew she could count on them for at least a few bottles each.
She took a peek at her watch: three on the dot. Holy shit. She impressed even herself with her time management skills. With a clap of her hands she said, “Okay, everyone. Clearly I’ve saved the best for last with that bacon olive oil—Clara over there was practically licking her plate—so that concludes today’s tasting class. However, the flavor possibilities with olive oil truly are endless and we have an extended variety available upstairs for informal, self-guided tastings as well. Not to mention our fabulous assortment of balsamic vinegar that is equally delicious. Everything you’ve tasted is available for purchase by bottle or case, and if you leave us a review on Yelp, we may,” Maeve lowered her voice and put a hand to her mouth as if telling a secret, “we absolutely will,” then she raised her voice again and lowered her hand, “send you an email with a 20% off coupon for your purchase with us.”
After everyone had made their way up the metal spiral staircase to the main retail space, Maeve reached under the table and pulled out a glass of wine. Being “on” was draining when she wasn’t in the right mood for it, so she’d stashed that bad boy under there before the class started. It had called to her throughout the class, encouraging her to continue kicking ass so she could reward herself with the tasty libation right afterwards.
When she’d first opened Olive What She’s Having, she’d had such high hopes for what it would do for her life. Mainly that it would fill the empty hole Jackson had left when he stomped his giant, furrier-than-a-hobbit foot through her chest. There she was three years later with an immensely satisfying career, a cozy little apartment above her store, and an adorable kitten named Heddy who loved her as much as any cat could show love for a human. And yet that hole refused to completely fill.
Knowing Kiki had everything covered upstairs with the customers, Maeve took her phone out of her work apron and checked her Snap Cat app. It soothed her soul to flip through the different video feeds to find her sweet Heddy, named after the kick-ass inventor Heddy Lamar. A few sips of wine and a look at the black pile of fluff sunning in the living room floor actually lifted her shoulders as the emotional weight diminished ever so slightly.
When her phone popped up with a text from Kiki, she immediately tensed up again. She read the text three times, so sure she’d misread it or was missing something.
“No fucking way,” she said to no one in particular. Jackson was supposed to be practically married to some woman back in their hometown of Milton, Maryland. So why were they upstairs in her Massachusetts store?
Chapter 2: Steve
Steve had big plans for his day off from the truck: guided kayak tour like the tourist he still was, pick up some much-needed reading material on how to market his failing business, and take a course on tasting and using infused olive oil.
He always enjoyed the challenge of switching out menu items while still maintaining the overall feel of the food being on “today’s special” boards–hence the name of his food truck: Today’s Gluten-Free Special. But he also knew neither the menu or their cooking was the cause of their financial woes. It was his inability to market, adequately schedule events, and compete with what was steadily becoming an oversaturated market.
The dozenth or so time he saw an ad for the class pop up on his phone, he finally caved and decided to give a menu revamp another go. Besides, there was something about the owner of the store that drew him in; made him believe that olive oil was the end all be all of cooking, and that he did not know shit about it. A severe problem that only she could solve.
When his business partner Heath suggested they take the day off (not that they’d had anyone begging them to park outside their business or event anyway) it sealed the deal of him booking a last-minute ticket to the class.
Maeve, the owner of Olive What She’s Having, reminded him a lot of Heath. She was impressively outgoing as she easily made connections with everyone in the class and created a sort of camaraderie between them. Even more impressive was how she did it without a single ice breaker. All of it had revolved around olive oil and her travels in pursuit of the perfect one.
Aside from being an olive oil aficionado, she was a history buff, too. As they tasted she talked about her travels and peppered in random historical facts: Turkey’s national sport is oil wrestling, they’re one of the main grape providers world-wide for wine thanks to their fertile soil, and Shakespeare may not have ever stepped foot in Italy. As she talked, Steve daydreamed about the two of them on a couch watching “Jeopardy” together. Both competing to answer before the other and keeping score on some old notepad on the coffee table.
He’d promptly snapped out of his hypothetical future with Maeve when Jillian accidentally stepped on his foot with her four-inch heel.
The hour flew by and he was mildly disappointed when Maeve offered one last anecdotal story before officially ending the class. There was an advanced class that he could have taken as well, but that one involved actually drinking olive oil and he wasn’t sure he was quite that into it or her. Though in her defense, he’d been captivated enough that he’d left the cellar area without taking along his bag of marketing books and had to go back down to retrieve them.
On the stairs, he was about to call out to Maeve when he noticed her on her phone, fully consumed by some cat videos as she drank a heaping amount of olive oil.
That settled it. He would not be attending the advanced class.
He tried not to disturb her as tiptoed toward the table and squatted down to grab his bag.
“No fucking way,” he heard her mutter under her breath when his back was to her.
She’s an angry olive-oil drunk, he thought before turning to say, “I’m sorry. I just came back to grab my bag.” One hand held his bag and the other he held up in front of him in defense.
“What?” She looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and annoyance and then shook her head. “I… No. Sorry, I didn’t even hear you come down. I was…” She sighed, closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, then opened them again as a new person. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice all flowery again. Just as it had been during the lesson, even though now there was a small crease between her eyebrows that betrayed her.
“Got everything this time?” she asked.
“All set. Thanks.” He held up his bag again as he hurried for the steps, not wanting to intrude any more than he already had.
He’d almost made it back up when something made him take one last glance into the tasting room to check up on her. She’d turned back to her phone again, her face full-on distressed as she turned her glass 180 degrees, desperate to get the remaining drops. He was relieved to realize Maeve wasn’t actually drinking a heaping portion of olive oil; it was white wine.
“You alright?” he bent down to ask, realizing a touch too late how half-hearted it must have sounded when he was already halfway out of the room.
Her face transformed again, that smile re-emerging as she tucked her red hair behind her ear and cheerfully said, “Absolutely. I’m good.”
She wasn’t, but he had problems of his own to tend to. He was about to leave to get to them when she called out to him.
“Wait. I…” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I might have something little you could help me with, if you don’t mind.”
Steve smiled as he walked back down the few steps to the stone floor. He figured she’d received news that a large group was coming through and she needed some help moving tables and stools around. As a people pleaser, he eagerly awaited whatever instructions she had of what to move and where. “Sure, I can help. I’m happy to,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves.
“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend,” Maeve said quickly, as if pulling off a bandage.
Steve looked over his shoulder, expecting to see someone else behind him.
“Please, Steve…” Finally, Maeve dropped the voice, let her shoulders sag, and her smile fell. “I just got a text from my coworker that my ex fiance is upstairs. I haven’t seen him in years. He knows I’m down here finishing up and he’s waiting me out. I know it sounds petty to want to win after a breakup, but I really want to fucking win, or at the very least, break even. He’s with someone new. I need to be with someone new.”
Steve didn’t have a chance to react before Maeve pressed her lips together again and said, “Sorry, I usually don’t swear in front of customers and I never, ever ask them to be my fake boyfriend. The wine and Jackson are messing with my head. Forget I said anything.”
“I don’t think—”
“I’ll help you with your food truck marketing,” Maeve blurted out after she glanced at her phone again, the message still on the screen.
He looked down at his bag. It wasn’t hard to guess he was interested in marketing. The clear material of the bag revealed the titles of his books.
“How did you know I have a food truck?”
“I research all my tasting clients. It’s good marketing to know your audience, but let’s keep that between us,” she said with a wink.
Steve gave a half smile. That would explain what he’d thought was a random, coincidental comment Maeve had made to the class about how olive oil stores great in cool, dark places and should not be stored in vehicles or food trucks unless in a climate controlled area. And why she’d had gluten-free bread options at the ready for their tasting.
“Research. Makes sense, I guess. And you think you can help me with marketing?”
“I regularly convince dozens of people to drink olive oil in my basement and then sell them cases of the stuff. You’ve seen my packed store in the middle of a weekday.”
“Good point.”
It really was a tempting offer. The books he’d purchased were literally weighing him down with their physical weight and metaphorical weight as he imagined how many hours he’d need to devote to reading each one. When he realized he’d left them behind he wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t his subconscious trying to save himself from the task.
And yet he still couldn’t get himself to agree to her offer. For one thing, it probably wasn’t a good idea to pretend to date someone he actually could see himself dating. But the biggest red flag holding him back was the persistent voice of his ex reminding him and persuading him that he was the worst human being on the planet and how all women should steer clear of his many toxic traits.
“I do all my own marketing,” Maeve said as she continued to lure him to the dark side. “What I’ve done for my store, I can do for Today’s Gluten-Free Special.”
Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He could head home and dive into his marketing books, or he could act like a boyfriend for a few minutes and get some legit one-on-one marketing help from someone whose results he’d already seen in action. He clearly remembered the social media ad she’d created that had convinced him to sign up for the tasting that day.
Maeve stood up and tucked her phone back into her apron. “No, you’re right,” she said, shaking her head of long, vibrant, copper-colored hair. “That was just the wine and the shock talking. It was a stupid idea—”
“I’ll do it,” he interrupted in a voice louder than what was absolutely necessary given they were in a small, cellar-like room. Apparently, it was Steve’s turn to sound desperate.
“What? Really?”
She was cute when she gave him a genuine smile in return. Hell, it was worth it even for that. Damn, he really was eager to please, and maybe a little too desperate for companionship. There was just something about her situation–the ghosts of relationships past coming back to haunt her when she least expected it–that he knew all too well.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “I just stand there and look pretty, right? Follow your lead?”
“Exactly. You know next to nothing about me besides my random trip stories, so less is definitely more.”
The two spent the next few minutes blowing out all the candles and nailing down the general details about their relationship.
“Since we’re keeping it simple, do we stick with the story that we met in your class? I can tell them how I was drawn to your vast knowledge of olive oil and witty anecdotes about traveling around the Mediterranean.”
“I don’t know about that.” She pressed her lips together as she contemplated it. “Is that something someone would do? Ask out their olive oil instructor?”
“It’s not as taboo as you think…”
She gave a laugh. “No, not the whole teacher-student thing. It just sounds so lame, meeting and flirting during a sixty minute session about oil.”
“What? Didn’t you see Clara licking her lips and throwing seductive eyes at Otto? A few more minutes and we’d have had a show; I’m sure of it.”
She wrinkled her nose at the thought of the octogenarians throwing caution to the wind and bumping uglies in her tasting cellar. “That’s not helping your case.”
They were standing around one of the tables with the final candle lit between them. Maybe it was the setting, or maybe it was something to do with Clara and Otto’s imminent fling. Perhaps it was the way Maeve looked him with those giant brown eyes, a smile still on her face even though she was clearly not pleased at the ex and his unannounced arrival. Whatever it was, Steve felt like maybe he’d finally found someone that could help silence those persistent voices in his mind.
Witty lines and Casa Nova charms were not his thing, but he’d been watching his ridiculously charismatic roommate lately so he figured he’d just minimic whatever he expected Heath to do in a situation like this one and he laid it on thick.
“Maeve, my love, my one and only. In your wildest dreams, how would we meet? You deserve nothing less, even if it’s only for the briefest of moments and only as part of an elaborate ruse.”
Without hesitation she beamed back as she said, “We met at a bookstore; the one you got you got your books from. I had a stack of books, but when I got to the checkout counter, I realized that I forgot my wallet. You were behind me in line and you insisted on paying for my books. All 20 of them.”
“You buy that many books at one time?!”
“In my wildest dreams I do.” Indeed, she did have a wild look in her eye that was highlighted with the reflection of the flame.
“And I offered to buy them all for you?” Never in his own wildest dreams would he ever do something like that. Heath might, but never him. The thought made him feel less deserving of her somehow and he wished he hadn’t questioned it as much as he had. It made him sound like a cheap bastard.
“You insisted on buying them,” Maeve said. “‘Adamant’ is probably the best word to use if it comes up. You noticed I had a few of your favorite books and you couldn’t bear me missing out on them.”
Her energy was infectious and he was right there with her, longing for it to somehow be their real-life story. “Yes, I like where you’re going with this. We could say you had the biography of cod in your stack–”
“Cod?” she asked. “Like the fish?”
“Yeah. Cod–”
“And it’s a biography?”
He wondered if the soft light from the single candle was enough for her to notice his face reddening.
“Yes, a biography about cod where Kurlansky provides a fascinating tour through the history of the fish that changed the world,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed and looked briefly at the stairs as if debating if she should make a run for it. Face the ex alone rather than bring up a fake boyfriend who loved biographies about fish.
“I read other stuff, too,” he added. In his mind he saw Heath’s face contorted with confusion and saying something like ‘Bloody hell, Steve. You don’t think I’d actually say something as asinine as that to a woman, do you?’
“Stephen King, Allison Feeney…” he continued to say as he fumbled his recovery from the cod comment.
“We’ll redirect if the title of the book comes up.” Maeve looked at her phone. “We should probably get up there. You ready?”