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“Race,” you said with a broad smile, “how morally opposed are you to lying?”
He smirked at you, taking off his hat to run a hand through his hair. “Morals aren’t my strong suit, sweetheart.”
He paused to sell one of his last papers to a passing businessman. You stood patiently, nodding a hello to one of your father’s coworkers. It was the end of the day, so you really ought to have been rushing home. Your father hated it when you talked to people who were “meant to remain in the background,” and he would surely hear about it tomorrow if somebody working at the law firm remembered seeing you out talking to the Newsies.
Race jogged back over, waggling his free fingers at you to triumphantly signal the end of the workday. “What kind of lie am I telling?”
You linked your arm with his, relishing the press of the hard lines of his forearms against yours. “A small lie, but a lie that gets us a bunch of cake.”
You and Race had become friends on accident, really. You bought a paper every day, and he was the Newsie that usually loitered on the corner near your house. After a few months of light banter over the sale, a different boy had taken his place. The new boy, Specs, was certainly a nice one, but you had missed your curly haired boy. You had spent several mornings trekking from corner to corner in search of him before finally finding him closer to the docks.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Y/N,” he had crooned when you approached. “Maybe I’m just dreamin’ through a pipe, but I think you’s followin’ me.”
You had grinned up at him, butterflies swirling through your stomach. “Are you complaining? Should I take by business back to Specs?”
He took your offered dime with a wink. “I never turn away a pretty girl.”
Months had passed, and your butterflies had stopped flying. All of the affection was still there, but it had faded from roaring feelings that ran high constantly to a low ache that echoed through you when you looked at him. It was still there when you looked away, tinged with loss, so you just enjoyed the sight of him when you could manage it.
The infatuation had changed as familiarity set in, the same way surprise dissolves when novelty sets in. The infatuation had given way to something far more intimate; a calm settling in when he brushed his fingers against your arm or a shocking clarity when he picked flowers outside of shops to lace through your hair.
It was unlikely anything could come of it, you knew. Your father wouldn’t want you stepping down on the social ladder. Race, as flirtatious as he was, had a fondness for the idea of families that had taken you by surprise at first. Over time, you had come to understand that for all of his teasing about how fancy your family life was, he saw it as something to be preserved; something to be envied. To have a nice home and a father that loved you was nothing to turn up your nose at.
You certainly appreciated the life you’d had, but that didn’t change the future you wanted when you caught sight of bright blue eyes, sweat-matted blond curls, or the twisting smoke of stolen cigars.
Race dragged you over to Jacobi’s, the bell jingling merrily when he pushed the door open.
“Two waters,” he called over his shoulder to the store owner.
“Oh, a big spender,” you teased lightly.
“Don’t tell me I never treated you to nothing,” he said with a grin. “Tell me about this cake.”
You splayed your fingers across the table, eagerness spilling over into your voice. “You know that new bakery by the theatre? They’ve got this deal.”
“A deal that gives free cake to homeless liars?”
“A deal that let’s engaged couples taste test the cakes for free if they’re considering having the bakery cater the wedding.”
Race’s cigar drooped in his mouth as he gaped at you. “I’s not engaged.”
You clenched your hands together under the table to stop yourself from reaching over to shut his mouth, to wipe away a smear of dirt from his cheekbone. Your waters arrived and you gratefully took the glass to give your hands something to do. “That’s the lie. Tell ‘em that you’re engaged, then you and the girl eat as much cake as you can manage.”
“And who’s the girl supposed to be?”
You scowled a little, though you could see a smile growing at the corners of his lips as the gears almost visibly turned. You flicked a little water at him, ignoring his splutter of disgust. “I’m the girl, stupid.”
He flicked water droplets back at you, sticking his tongue out with delight. After a second, he sobered a little. “I’m not sure we could pull that off. We don’t really look like we’d get hitched, babe.”
You shrugged. “Take a bath.”
“That’s not it and you know it. People like you don’t marry people like me.”
You frowned a little. “Katherine and Jack have been together for ages, and they’re people like you and me.”
He looked at you with exasperation. “They’s the exception to the rule. The rule says that I’m a just a stop before you move on to greener pastures.”
You met his eyes cooly, bumping your foot against his under the table. You had kicked at him playfully before, but it felt far more intimate now. “I’ve never been one for moving on.”
There was a moment, just a breath of time, that he looked floored. He shook it off, licking his lips thoughtfully before concluding, “we don’t even got a ring.”
There it was. You smirked, fishing the chain of your necklace out of the neckline of your blouse. Your father would have screamed if he saw the necklace out of the house, but it was the detail that cinched the scheme. You wanted some cake, and you wanted to eat it with Race. His eyebrows rose to his hairline when he saw the small ring on the chain.
“Where the fu-”
“Race!”
“Where,” he corrected himself in a quieter voice, “did you get that ring?”
“Never you mind,” you said. “Are you in or not? I’ll bet Romeo would be willing if you aren’t.”
Race smiled, the humor not quite making it to his eyes. “I’ll do it. If you ask Romeo, he won’t let you out of the engagement.”
You grinned. “Who says I’ll let you out of it? Mrs. Y/N Higgins has a nice ring to it.”
Race seemed pretty calm about the plan for the few days that you saw him before you set it into motion, but as you walked arm in arm to the bakery, you could feel the tension rolling under his skin.
“This might be a bad idea,” he whispered, ducking down to whisper into your ear.
“It’s a great idea,” you hissed back, plastering on a smile as you stood on tiptoe to brush your lips against the shell of his ear. He shivered a little, and it made you wish that you could have enjoyed it more. You just needed him to calm down. If the two of you only looked coupley once you got in the door, it would look suspicious. “This is just another con. It’s like lying about a headline. You’ve just got to smile and hold my hand, and I can cover the rest.”
He sighed a little. “What kind of cake is there?”
“Anything you want,” you said. With that question, you had won. You paused by the side of the building just long enough to slide the ring off it’s chain and onto your finger. Race’s eyes locked on the ring, just as enraptured as he had been when he first saw it.
Upon walking into the bakery, the woman behind the counter’s nose wrinkled. You wouldn’t have minded so much if her eyes hadn’t skipped over you, in your second best day dress, to Race. He had bathed the night before. He smelled like soap and toothpaste underneath the heavy layer of cigar smoke, but you could see her disdain at his clothes. He had anxiously explained to you the night before that his best clothes were whichever clothes were clean at any given time. In short, he looked the same as always, but without smudges of dirt.
“I’m sorry, dear,” the woman said with a sickeningly false smile. “This isn’t a bakery where you buy regular bread.”
“We know,” you said. You hugged his arm tightly against your side with a broad grin. “We’re getting married! We saw the sign in the window about free taste testing?” You turned to Race, letting your eyes grow wide with false worry. “Maybe we got the store wrong.”
“You two are engaged?” The woman’s rotten attitude slid away in her surprise.
You held out your left hand, diamond sparkling brightly on your ring finger. “We are.”
Her gaze flickered over Race’s hat, his large, false smile, and his fraying threads in the shoulders of his vest.
“The special is meant for potential customers,” she said cautiously. “Can you two, ah, afford our services?”
You smiled again, but you had to fight to keep from scowling. “Daddy’s paying.”
She looked over the two of you again, but politeness overpowered her uncertainty. As you had hoped, the possibility of legitimacy was stronger than the fear of deception. “You two can take a seat in the back room. I’ll bring out a few plates.”
You beamed at Race once she left. “Tonight, my darling, we feast.”
Race’s eyes were very large as he looked around. It was a nice place, sure, but he looked overwhelmIngly young in the clean eating area. “This is a fancy joint.”
You smoothed a napkin over your lap. “It’s alright. I’m not sure it’s right for us,” you teased quietly. “She might be too much of a snob.”
He smiled a little. “Yeah, but she ain‘t wrong. We’s a sham.”
You shrugged. “I guess so, but you never know. Maybe I’ll be back here in a few years with the ring, the guy, the wedding. If my father pays for it, does it really matter that we’re doing this as long as they get the business?”
Race was frowning back at you now, wearing the face that you saw every time you offered to pay for a drink or to get him new shoelaces. It was the face that made you both conscious of the fact that you had money and he didn’t. “But I won’t be back here. I didn’t give you that ring, your father won’t be paying for my wedding, and I will never bring this place no business.”
“That’s why this is great plan! We get great food for free. The whole point is that you don’t have to pay,” you argued.
“I love free food as much as the next Joe,” he said lowly. “But I don’t like being looked at like I’m garbage, and I don’t like that she’s right to think you’s out of my league.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but the owner came back with a platter covered in small pieces of a variety of cakes.
She carefully spread them out across the small table, smiling for the first time since you arrived when Race’s eyes bulged.
“Amazing,” he breathed, snatching for his fork with his eyes glued to a deep red slice.
She smiled at the two of you, eating as though you had forgotten the argument left unfinished. You could see a tightness in Race’s jaw, signaling that he still felt out of place, but he wouldn’t put your hide on the line now. He shoveled mouthful after mouthful of each flavor, eyes brightening with each piece.
You ate too, but with a little more of the training your father had worked so hard to engrain. You hadn’t thought that being angry could ruin the taste of something that you loved, but you were struggling to enjoy it. The anger had nowhere to go. If Race really felt inadequate, it was your fault. You had assumed that he understood how you felt about him, but maybe the flippancy with which you convinced him to be your fake fiance had felt like you were making light of your relationship with him.
When the owner softened enough to make small talk, you made sure to take the lead. “So how did you two meet?”
“He sells me my newspapers,” you said proudly. Race looked at you with surprise, evidently not expecting you to tell the truth. “It took me a while, but I finally wore him down.”
She smiled when you winked, a little baffled. “And your father approves of the match?”
“My father doesn’t want to lose me. If he had made me choose, he knew what my decision would be. He’s accepted Race into the family.”
“And the proposal?”
Race spoke up first, his smile sincere. “I asked her on the Fourth of July, under the fireworks.”
“It was my mother’s ring,” you added. “It’s a family heirloom.”
The owner nodded sagely. “Do you two not think that you’re a little young to be getting married?”
“We’ve wasted enough time,’ Race said softly. You met his eyes, surprised and hopeful and a little afraid as the butterflies, so long dormant, erupted into flight in your stomach again.
A few more moments of absent chit chat led to the woman taking plates back to the kitchen.
“That really your mother’s ring?” he asked.
You nodded, looking down at the bright diamond cheerily shimmering on your finger.
“You shouldn’t have brought an heirloom out for somethin’ like this,” he said. “That’s somethin’ really special.”
“It’s going to be mine anyways,” you said with an ounce of bitterness. “I’d rather wear it to be engaged to you than anybody else.”
He gaped at you, but before you could consider taking it back or making a joke to cover it up, he surged forward and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was light and gentle, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek as he leaned across the table. His lips tasted like buttercream. You smiled against him, moving to deepen the kiss, but the kitchen door swung open as the owner came back.
You tried to keep a rapt expression on your face as she explained how much notice you would need to give if you ordered a cake for the wedding, but Race kept whispering comments into your ear that made your stomach kick and your eyes brighten beyond what a business deal can inspire.
“This place is outta my price range, but maybe your father really would pay. We’d need a cake the size of the whole Lodge to feed all of the boys. Maybe Katherine would write a piece about our wedding.”
Promising to come back soon to submit the order for a cake, you ushered Race out of the bakery. If the woman thought that there was something suspicious about the two of you, she didn’t say so. Her eyes were warm as she bid you farewell.
“Your father will come around,” she whispered to you as you pushed through the door. “You’ve got a sweet boy.”
“I know,” you said with a grin. “I’m not letting him go for anything.”
Instead of offering his elbow, Race wound his fingers between yours as you walked away. He had been right; you had wasted too much time already.
The next time you wore your mother’s ring, Race slid it onto your finger himself.