Don't Go Faking My Heart (Sweet as Sugar Maple, #4)

by Kate Watson

My ex was every bit as manipulative as Lou is saying. I felt terrible about myself with him. But he knew how to turn the charm on, and when he did, I also felt amazing about myself, like the luckiest girl in the world. I couldn't be dysfunctional if someone like him loved me. If he liked me, maybe I was okay. Maybe I was normal.

We broke up a couple of years ago, but I still get texts from him on occasion. And every time, it throws me back into the two contradicting feelings that were the hallmark of our relationship: feeling like I must be special and yet not feeling special—or even accepted—at all.

My friends are master logicians and debaters, calm and confident. But I'm great off the cuff. I'm everyone's favorite person on a panel or in a Q&A because I'm spontaneous and funny and, frankly, clever. I feed off the audience and can adjust to their energy. I love being in front of a crowd.

Hyperfocus, distraction, and a need for stimulation are symptoms of my ADHD. Having awesome hair, nerdy interests, and being a quirky delight is all me.

What is it the Southerners say? The higher the hair, the closer to God. Saint Ashley, at your service.

He had a way of making me feel like a trainwreck, but one he alone could fix.

Why can't he let me go when he clearly doesn't want me? Why do I care?

I duck my head and catalog the compliment. I don't know if she's aware of how often she compliments me, but I am.

How this woman talked me—a guy who’s up before the rooster crows—into abandoning my post and staying up all night is no mystery. I'm madly in love with her.

"You mean to tell me Figures McDataPants doesn’t want to talk numbers?"

But you don't have to have a graphic design background to know Comic Sans is a big no-no.

And I pine. For every second of the next hour, I pine.

The first time I met Ash, I felt like someone opened the curtains in a dark room. It was almost painful how much light she let in.

His possessiveness makes me feel sick and flattered at the same time, which in turn makes me feel sicker. How does he still have any kind of pull over me? He knows exactly what he's doing. He loves control. And I hate him for it.

He looks up at me, and he makes his eyebrows pull together as if in earnest, and it's then that I realize how much danger I'm in. I want him to writhe over what he lost. Which means he still has power over me. Disgust and fear bubble in my gut, creating a dangerous mixture.

In college, I was diagnosed with ADHD, took steps to learn to thrive with it, and then I came to life. I realized I wasn’t offbeat but rather ahead of the tempo. I had a way of spotting future trends and capitalizing on them.

The first couple of months together were like a fairytale … with a few Grimm moments, if you know what I mean. But, like a good little empath, I made excuses for him.

And by six months, I was stuck on a sickening merry-go-round of feeling lucky that Philip cared about me, feeling worthless without him, wanting out, and wanting him to just love me.

They don't know that I did those things because Philip made me feel like I was more acceptable that way. Just like my dad used to. My friends noticed, though.

If my love for Ash disappeared, the pain would go with it, but so would the joy. It is a privilege to love that woman, close or far.

Also, I'm such a hug person that his strong arms are exactly what I need to chill.

I don't know how I'll ever come back from fake dating the love of my life.

“Y’all gotta trust Ash more. She doesn’t need all this pushing, she needs y’all to believe in her.” Millie’s mouth falls open. “Is that what it seems like we’re doing? Pushing her instead of supporting her?”

Whatever happened, she got through it because you guys are the best friends in the world. You gave her the strength she needed to leave him. But that’s over. She doesn’t have to rely on your strength anymore, she has to see that she has all the strength she needs inside of her.”

The old school mentality of indie equaling amateur has yet to die on any platform, let alone music.

He has the look of someone who finally slept in after days of not getting enough sleep, and your body doesn't know what to do about it, so you get weirdly puffy and feel more exhausted than if you were running on fumes.

"He said selling isn't about pushing something on folks that they don't want. Good selling is about taking the time to understand someone's needs and finding the product that meets it."

He was the first guy ever not to treat me like some manic pixie dream girl, like Philip used to say I was."

She angles her body so she's almost facing me, with her legs curled up onto the seat. I don't risk more than a glance at her. Anything more and I'll never be able to look away. Stupid road safety.

Real men wear aprons, not capes.

This is the Rusty I've seen a million times: the Rusty who is so steady, consistent, caring, and nurturing, yet who has surprised me at every turn since I've started letting him.

"Maybe I'll keep you forever," he teases, and my stomach flips. I don't want him to tease. I want him to be serious.

Note to self: trade in the truck for one with a bench seat.

You're toxic, bro. Blocking you is like blocking nerve gas. Good for one's health. Recommended by doctors everywhere."

"Anger's not a real emotion. It's hiding something else. If you want to get past it, you need to figure out what it's covering."

"Farm Boy, we have the kind of love that could last the ages.

Okay, how about this: do you really think you're such a special sinner that you're accountable for a mistake no one could have planned for?

I knew right then that I would never find someone who inspired me to want to be my best self more than you."