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FAKE START
Copyright © 2021 by Jasmin Miller

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or

transmitted in any form without the prior written consent of the author, except in
the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, things, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

Published: Jasmin Miller 2021

jasmin@jasminmiller.com
www.jasminmiller.com
Editing: Marion Archer, Making Manuscripts
Proofreading: Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading
Cover Art: Najla Qamber, Qamber Designs & Media
 CONTENTS

Fake Start

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue

Bonus chapter
The Husband Checklist Excerpt
Also by Jasmin Miller
Keep in touch
Acknowledgments
About the Author
 FAKE START

You know that awkward moment when your agent tells you to fake
date your best friend’s sister so you can get the endorsement deal of
your dreams? No?

Call me crazy for considering it, but why not? Daisy’s my friend, after
all, and I’ve gotten quite close to her and her two awesome boys
over the last few years since her douche-nozzle husband divorced
her. She loves it when I flirt with her, so we could carry it off,
couldn’t we?

An endorsement deal with Lock Performance has been my goal ever

since I was little, and it would be one of the biggest
accomplishments in my professional swimming career. Something I
want desperately.

But what I didn’t expect from this fake start was to want something
else—someone—just as desperately. How do I make sure I don’t
lose both?
 This one is for the good guys.
We love you.

“No beauty shines brighter than that of a good heart.” –

Shanina Shaik
ONE
 DAISY

“G ive this card to whoever is a lady in the streets but a freak in the
sheets.” Everyone erupts into laughter as Vicky throws the teal card
she just read straight at my head.
“Me?” I stare at it with wide eyes before I pick up my fancy
champagne glass. Tonight, I definitely need some liquid courage. Or
rather, some liquid help to settle my nerves.
Vicky nods. “We all know the freak-in-the-sheets part would
normally be me, but I am no lady in the streets compared to you.”
She leans closer. “And even though you’ve never been big on
kissing-and-telling, we’ve unanimously come to the conclusion that
you’re a minx in bed.”
I choke mid-sip, the bubbly drink shooting up my nose, leaving
the path with an unsettling burning and fizzing sensation. My nose
will never be the same.
Yuck.
Tasha and Leanne are laughing so hard, they almost fall off their
chairs.
To be put on the spot like this about my sex life wasn’t on my to-
do list for today, but I’m buzzed enough to laugh along.
 Vicky has a hard time calming down, the alcohol clearly gone to
her head. “Best. Birthday. Ever. And they say the twenties are the
best years. Ha. Hello fabulous early middle age.” She barely gets out
the words before she has another giggling fit.
But she’s right. I can’t remember the last time I had this much
fun.
It’s been ages.
We girls used to have fun all the time, but then we got older, and
things . . . changed.
I changed.
With a grin aimed at my friends, I grab a few paper towels and
clean up the mess I made, making sure my newest card ends up on
the bottom of my pile instead of the top. I don’t need a card
reminding me that I don’t have a sex life, and that I’ve definitely
never been a freak in the sheets. It’s just not me. Or so Daniel used
to say. Even though Vicky doesn’t know all of it. No one does. And
that’s exactly the way I like it.
I nod my chin at the next card on my pile, like we’re in some sort
of agreement, the Rapid Fire: Vegan Foods card I drew last round. I
take that over anything sex-related.
Tasha picks up the next card from the main stack, and her
shoulders shake before she manages to get out a single word.
Vicky peeks over her shoulder to read. “Keep this card if you’ve
ever done a walk of shame in a Halloween costume.”
Tasha lifts her hands and chuckles. “Definitely keeping this one.
And I have no regrets at all. Hands down the best decision I ever
made.” She lifts her left hand and wiggles her fingers to show off the
gorgeous engagement ring Xander proposed with a few weeks ago.
We’ve all oohed and aahed plenty over its beauty.
 I ignore the pulling sensation in my gut, because I’m happy for
my friend. I really am. She deserves a great partner in life, and
Xander seems to be just that.
Even though I thought that once too about Daniel.
We play a few more rounds of For The Girls, laughing until we’ve
all shed a few tears. Most definitely one of the best nights I’ve had
in a while.
I love my two boys and hanging out with them, but sometimes a
mama has to have a fun night away from her kids to fill up those
exhausted batteries. And between my nurse job at the hospital and
single-momming it, those batteries have been totally drained. Which
brings us to tonight. Blocking my normal life and focusing on a good
time with my girlfriends instead.
After we finish the game, Tasha and Leanne’s ride is here, and
they leave in a giggling heap. I help Vicky clean up the mess we
made and shake my head. “Man, this is rivaling our college days.”
Vicky chuckles as she stares at her open kitchen and living room
area. “You have a point. Let’s just hope we’re a lot wiser now than
we were back then.”
I snort. “Yeah, we definitely made our fair share of bad
decisions.”
An image of Daniel appears in my mind, but I push it straight
back down. There are things you can’t change; things you don’t
want to change. Not fully, at least.
Vicky’s gaze is on me, and I’m not surprised. She’s always been
able to read me like an open book, ever since I met her in high
school when she moved in next door to us. “You okay there, Daisy
Doo?”
I smile at the nickname, something she picked up from my
grandpa when he was still around. It never fails to lift my spirits,
even after all this time. It’s almost like a comfort blanket that I wrap
around myself.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
She doesn’t believe it, and we both know it.
Whereas Vicky is the first to come straight out when something
bothers her, I’ve always been more reserved.
So I stick to my role and nod.
“All right, all right.” She lifts her hands and heaves a sigh. “You
know where to find me.”
I press a kiss to her cheek. “I do, thank you.”
We continue to clean in silence until my phone vibrates on the
counter. I wipe the rest of the dining table before walking over to
the kitchen to pick up my phone.

Noah: Look at these lazy butts. They passed out on me

during the movie.

I click on the photo and rotate my phone so it enlarges. My

mouth stretches as far as it goes. My boys Mason and Alex are
sprawled out on Noah’s big sectional, but they aren’t alone. Hunter
Kinney is sandwiched between them, making my eight- and six-year-
old look tiny in this picture even though they’re both big for their
age.
My boys look cute as heck, as always when they sleep and aren’t
running around like maniacs trying to drive me to the brink of
insanity. And then, there’s . . . Hunter, my brother’s Olympic
swimmer best friend Hunter. I sigh loudly–too loudly–because Vicky
comes over and peeks over my shoulder at my screen.
 “Wee-ooh-wee. That man is so damn fine, I sometimes can’t
handle looking at him. I mean, look at him. Even sleeping and
covering up that delicious chest tattoo with unnecessary clothes, he
still looks like a piece of art. I stand by my opinion that you should
totally tap that.”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “Vick, we’ve talked about this before.
I can’t tap that.”
Even if I wanted to, not that I tell her that.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Why not?”
“For one, he’s one of my brother’s best friends, and we’re just
friends. Two, I’m a mom. Three, he’s younger than me, and—”
“You guys are like four or five years apart, which is like nothing,
so that’s a lame excuse. No one cares if he’s younger.”
“Uh, yeah. People do.”
She raises her perfect brows at me. “Really? People?”
I nod.
“Who cares about people? Is this your life or people’s life?”
“Come on, you know what I mean. I’ve gotten enough looks from
everyone during my divorce. I don’t want to care about what people
think, but I can’t help it, okay?”
She laces her fingers in front of her chest and looks upward like
she’s praying for patience. Or something. “Daisy, we’ve gone over
this before. There’s nothing wrong with divorcing Daniel. It was a
long time coming.”
I open my mouth to say something but she holds up a finger.
“Let me finish, please.” She inhales deeply. “Does it suck to
separate, especially when kids are involved? Yes, of course it does.
Major suck right there. But he wasn’t right for you. He wasn’t bad
but definitely not what you deserve either, not by far. And he
absolutely didn’t treat you like the babe you are. We both know it.
End of story.”
Soft spot hit dead on. My momentary irritation deflates like a
leaking balloon. “I know, I know.”
“All I’m saying is that you deserve some fun. A good time with a
great guy. Hunter is a great guy, and he’s always flirting with you.”
“Hunter flirts with everyone.”
“I don’t think he flirts with everyone the way he does with you.”
I shrug, not sure how else to react.
“One day, you’ll see it. Until then, bathe in your pretentiousness.
I have to pee.” She throws the dish towel at me and heads to the
bathroom.
Shaking my head at her retreating back, I put the towel in its
place, and look at the picture on my phone again.
Cute kids.
Gorgeous man.
I click back into the message.

Daisy: I’m not surprised, are you? I didn’t know Hunter

would be there.

The dots appear at the bottom, so I wait for the reply.

Noah: Me neither. Something’s up his butt.

I huff to myself.

Daisy: Is he okay?
 Noah: I think so. Who knows. He’s still cheery as hell, so
it can’t be that bad.

Daisy: Are you sure you’re okay to keep the boys

tonight? I can come and get them.

Noah: Chloe has a big breakfast planned for them, so

we’ll see you tomorrow as planned. Enjoy your night off.
But don’t go too crazy. ;)

This time, I snort. Does everyone think I’m secretly an exotic

dancer under my comfortable clothes, or what? Or . . . I can’t even
think of anything else extravagant. That’s how boring my life is. A
night in with a few drinks while playing fun games with my
girlfriends every blue moon is as exciting as it gets.

Daisy: Oh, you know me. Just another night of pole

dancing for this mama.

There, that’ll teach him.

“Pole dancing, huh?”
I jump at the voice right next to my ear and press my hand to
my chest as Vicky steps in front of me, a satisfied smirk on her face.
After I somewhat catch my breath, I point at her. “You know
better than to sneak up on people. For fuck’s sake, Vick. You’re
going to give me a heart attack.”
“Oh stop acting like you’re in the grave with one foot. You’re
thirty-three, for fuck’s sake, not seventy.” She looks at me and
wiggles her eyebrows. “Now, what was that about pole dancing?”
 “It was just a joke, because Noah forgot again that he’s my
younger brother and I’m the older one.”
She’s still studying me. “Hmm.”
“Hmm what?”
Without replying, she spins around and goes to the couch to pick
up her phone, typing furiously while she walks back to me. She
nods. “Yup. That sounds great. Let’s do it.”
I crunch up my nose. “Uh, let’s do what?”
“Pole dancing, of course.”
She bursts out laughing, probably at my you’ve got to be kidding
me expression. “I’m glad I amuse you that much.”
“Oh come on, you should’ve seen yourself.” Vicky puts one arm
around my waist and squeezes. “Anyway, there’s this pole dancing
class downtown, and I’ve been hearing great things about it, so I’ll
book us a session. Happy birthday.”
“My birthday isn’t for another two months.”
“Happy early birthday, then.” She throws her arms in the air and
does a wild shimmy. “This will be so much fun.”
There must be a lot of leftover alcohol in her system.
Not sure I can say the same about me.
Me and pole dancing?
Put that on the list right under having sex.
In other words, not happening anytime soon.
Time to rein in my fearless friend and head home as this sensible
mama knows what’s what in her life.
TWO
 HUNTER

“W ell , someone looks like they might have had a little too much fun
last night.” I bite my cheek to keep from laughing when Daisy walks
into Noah’s kitchen, still wearing her sunglasses, and completing the
look with a pout.
She groans and plops down next to me on the barstool before
putting her head on the cool countertop, her sunglasses sliding off in
the process. “I’m never going to drink again. I’m too old for this.”
This time, I laugh. “You’re not too old. I bet you didn’t eat
enough beforehand, or hydrate enough, though.”
She turns her head enough to peek at me with one half-opened
eye. “Of course, you’re the fun police. You’re basically the poster boy
for all things healthy and proper.”
I fully turn her way and let my eyes roam over her tired face
while her light-brown eye follows my every movement. Then I lean
down and lower my voice. “Just because I live a healthy life, it
doesn’t mean I don’t have any fun. Last time I checked, there was
plenty of pleasure in my life.”
Her other eye opens at my statement, both widening as her
pupils dilate a fraction. Someone else might feel bad for teasing her
like this, but I enjoy every second of it. Teasing Daisy is the best, so
I wink at her too.
Her plump lips fall open on a quiet gasp, just as footsteps
thunder through the house.
Mason barrels into the kitchen and barely comes to a halt before
crashing into Daisy, who has peeled herself off the bar. “Mommy,
Mommy, there you are. Uncle Noah let us stay up super late, and
then Hunter came over too, and we all watched a movie and ate
popcorn and candy.”
“So I’ve heard.” Now there’s also a smile on her face, even
though it’s definitely not as exuberant as it would be any other day.
Alex races in next, running straight into his mother’s arms too.
She puts her arm around him and squeezes. “Hey, buddy. Did
you have a good time?”
He nods into her midsection, still holding on tight.
Noah walks in a moment later, clapping me on the shoulder, after
murmuring, “Hey, sis,” to Daisy and planting a kiss to her hair.
He gets a bowl and pan out, a routine I’m all too familiar with
after a night with the boys. It’s pancakes time. He tilts his chin at
me. “You staying for breakfast? Chloe will get started when she’s
back from the store in a minute.”
I check the time on the oven. “Dave will be at my place in half an
hour, so I’m going to head home soon.”
Noah’s eyebrows draw together. “Should I wish you good luck?”
“I’ll take it either way. Thanks, man.”
My agent Dave left me a cryptic message this morning about
having good and bad news without any more info. Let’s hope the
good news is worth the bad one.
I get up and say bye to everyone, which includes fist bumps and
promises to hang out soon with the boys, a half-hug and wink for
Daisy, and a wave to Noah.
When I make it to my SUV, Noah’s fiancée, Chloe, pulls into the
driveway. She hops out of her car with a grocery bag in hand,
holding it up with a chuckle. “I can’t believe we were out of eggs.
How does that even work with a professional athlete in the house?”
I shake my head at her, remembering the giggling in the
background when Noah called me from the store this week. “Don’t
ask me. Maybe someone distracted him from his shopping this
week?”
Chloe’s cheeks turn pink as she hits my arm. “Oh shush. Where
are you headed anyway? I thought you were staying for breakfast.”
“Dave called. He said it’s urgent.”
“Ah I see. Do you think it might be about the campaign?”
Neither one of us needs to say what campaign she’s talking
about. Noah has been one of my best friends since we met at swim
camp over a decade ago—alongside Jace and Ryan. When his former
love Chloe came back into his life last year, she automatically
became like family too, just like Millie did with Jace, and Harper with
Ryan.
Everyone knows pretty much everything about everyone in our
circle—at least, the most important stuff—and I’m oddly enough
okay with that. It’s the exact same with my family, where everyone’s
always in everyone’s business too. It’s familiar.
I shrug. “I’m not sure, maybe.”
“Fingers crossed?”
The corners of my mouth tip up as I nod. “Fingers crossed.”
We grin at each other, until I take a step back and point toward
the house. “Daisy looks like she might be in need of one of your
green shakes.”
Chloe flinches. “Oh, no. I’ll take good care of her.”
 “Good.” I touch two fingers to my forehead before pulling them
away in a half-assed salute. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow at Ryan’s?”
“Yup.”
“Sounds good.”
“Let us know what’s going on.”
“Will do.” I wave once more and get in my seat as Chloe walks
inside.
Dave is early, already waiting when I pull into my driveway
fifteen minutes later. I park in the garage, and Dave follows me
inside after a handshake. He’s been my agent for the last three
years and has been responsible for some of my biggest deals. He
can be a bit brash at times, but he’s one of the best in the industry,
so it pays off.
I put my keys on the kitchen counter and walk to the fridge. “You
want something to drink?”
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.” He pulls out a barstool and hoists
himself up, the stool slightly protesting under his body.
I nod and grab a water for myself before leaning against the
countertop that faces him. “Soooooo, what’s going on?”
Dave isn’t one for small talk, or sharing a lot of personal info—at
least not when it doesn’t pertain to our business deals and
handlings. It was weird at the beginning, but I’ve gotten used to it
over the years.
His salt-and-pepper eyebrows rise as he stares at me. “You sure
you’re ready for this?”
A nervous chuckle rises to the surface. “Let’s hope so.”
He rubs over his beard before nodding. “Okay. Good news first.
You’re officially on Whitlock’s list.”
I accidentally tip my water and some spills over the top, landing
on my shoe. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
 Dave smiles, knowing he’s got me. “I know, right? Now to the
bad news. Since your ‘fan club’”—he makes quotes with his hands
since he says it’s not really a fan club and more women lusting over
my social media photos—“did such a fantastic job finding and
circulating those pics of you and Daisy online, Whitlock thinks you
guys are an item.”
I place my water on the counter before I spill more, waiting for
Dave to continue. But he doesn’t. My brows draw together. “First of
all, you told me to post more photos of me during practice and at
the gym, so don’t complain about my fan club liking those. And what
photos of Daisy and me? Are you talking about the ones from the
park the other week?”
We don’t get a lot of photographers following us thankfully, but
when they do, we’ve all learned to ignore them as best as we can. I
thought I saw one across the park right before Daisy and I were
laughing our asses off when Mason shot the soccer ball straight into
Noah’s nuts and he acted all dramatic about it. It really wasn’t that
hard of a kick.
“Those, and then there are others of you guys shopping, leaving
the pool together, and others. You know they’ve been circling for a
while now.”
Besides posting my photo quota that Dave talked me into, and
replying to comments when I can, I don’t spend a lot of time on
social media. Too much of a time sucker in my already busy life.
I arch a brow at him. “I don’t think Daisy and I were ever alone
though.”
He only shrugs. “You know how they are, Hunter. They cut out
the other people and only show the two of you. It basically looks like
you guys have been involved since last year.”
 Blowing out a breath, I shake my head. This is not worth getting
worked up over. Social media does what social media wants to do,
something I accepted a long time ago. “Okay, I hear ya. I still don’t
understand what Daisy has to do with Whitlock.”
Dave leans back in his chair, the material once more groaning
under him. I need to remember to check that barstool when he’s
gone to make sure nothing is loose.
He looks at me like I’m missing something. “Remember we talked
about how important family is to Whitlock, and how much he likes
his ambassadors to share the same values?”
Ohhhhh.
“Shit.” I push the strangling air out of my mouth. This is bad
news. Lock Performance has been my dream sports company to
work with ever since I saw their commercials when I was young.
Somehow, the athletes spoke to me—like superheroes in their own
way—their messages reaching me in a way little else could back
then. They helped me through a tough time, as weird as that
sounds, and also sparked my dream of becoming an elite athlete.
“He wants the candidates to attend the gala he’s hosting next
week. With their partners if possible.” He clears his throat and shifts
around. “Webb will be there too . . . with his fiancée, of course.”
I groan. Damn it. Tom Webb has been the bane of my existence
for way too long, snatching more than one campaign right out from
under my nose, and rubbing it in my face whenever possible. That
guy is a total douchebag.
“I hate to say it, Hunter, but no matter how much of a diva he is
sometimes, his chances look a lot better right now. Not only does he
know how to play the game, but he’s also got a fiancée on his arm
now, a pregnant one at that if the rumors are to be believed.”
 My mind goes into overdrive, mentally going over my chances
and the possible reasons why Tom Douche was able to win
campaigns before that I thought I had in my pocket. Other than his
dad being a big investor, I come up empty. There’s nothing else
enticing I can think of that would make companies choose him over
me, and I don’t mean that in a cocky way. I mean that in a total
that-guy-is-a-total-jerk-and-I’m-not way. Apparently, he’s doing a
good job of hiding that though, at least in front of the important
people.
I grab for my water and almost knock it over again before I get a
good hold of it and down the whole thing.
This campaign is my dream, it has been for so long. And now
that it’s finally within my reach, someone else might take it away
from me.
No. Way.
Mr. Whitlock must see that I’m a much better candidate for his
brand than Tom, no matter if I’m in a relationship or not. That
shouldn’t make a difference anyway.
Dave tips his chin up. “What do you want me to do? Confirm the
gala?”
“Yeah.” I’m definitely not giving up that easily. I’m going to
charm Whitlock’s pants off.
“With a plus-one or not?”
“You know Daisy and I aren’t dating.”
He shrugs, apparently not perturbed the slightest by this
situation. “You don’t have to bring her, but I think your chances will
definitely be better if you do, especially since you already look like a
couple on social media. You guys just need to be yourselves. Do you
think she’ll go with you?”
 “As my date? As my . . . girlfriend?” The words come out in a
half-choke.
His shoulders go up once more. “Why not?”
I shove my hand in my hair, pulling lightly at it. I take a deep
breath before I answer, not wanting to snap at Dave. “Because she’s
not my fucking girlfriend, Dave.”
“It doesn’t have to be real. Just ask her.”
Ask Daisy if she wants to be my girlfriend?
My fake girlfriend?
Because yeah, that’s something you just throw out there all
casual.
But what are my options?
I mean, what’s the worst she can say?
THREE
 DAISY

“O h my gosh , look at her . I want to eat her up .” H arper pushes

against my side as close as she can to look at the tiny bundle in my
lap. Wendy is rolled up in a blanket, only her small face peeking out.
The smile on my face hasn’t wavered since I caught sight of her
when Jace and Millie walked in the door half an hour ago. Nothing is
better and purer than a newborn baby. I still get emotional
whenever I see baby pictures of my boys, and they’re six and eight
now. The tiny noses, the pouty lips, the big eyes, and smooth skin.
The natural instinct to love and protect little ones is sometimes so
strong, it borders on the edge of overwhelming.
“She’s so freaking perfect.” I look up at Millie, who’s curled up
with Jace on the loveseat next to us.
“Isn’t she?” Millie has her eyes on her daughter, something I
remember all too well too. It’s hard to look away for even a moment
when they’re brand new. And this is the first baby for Jace and
Millie, even though Jace already has a son that Millie has helped him
raise since she became his nanny a couple years ago. But since Jace
didn’t know about him until he was two, he never experienced all of
these early stages either. Now they can experience these big firsts
together.
 The chatter in the room engulfs me in a bubble, like always on
these social Sundays. Throughout the guys’ careers, Sunday has
been the one steady free day they all had. Most of the time at least.
Any other day, my brother, Ryan, Jace, and Hunter were busy
swimming their hearts out and collecting ridiculous amounts of
Olympic medals and world records as a result. It’s always a nice
change to spend that free time together and relax.
Noah, Ryan, and Jace have officially retired from their Olympic
careers and are focusing their talent on training the next
generations. Along the way, all three have found their other halves,
and somehow, they adopted me into their mix too since I got
divorced and Noah saw it as his duty to play the helpful—and
somewhat overbearing—brother once more. Trying to get me out of
the house more often, making sure he could see that I was okay.
Dragging me and the boys with him to these get-togethers.
Wendy’s mouth opens in a big yawn as her eyes slowly blink
open, her big blue irises trying to focus on me.
“Hi, sweet girl.” Unable to resist the urge, I brush my finger over
her cheek, enjoying the feel of her soft skin.
Her head turns to the side as her lips open and close several
times.
I smile and look up at Millie. “I think someone’s hungry.”
Millie chuckles. “Of course she is. It’s only been an hour. I didn’t
know babies are this hungry, like all the time.”
“Mason and Alex were two eating machines too. Eating whenever
they could.”
Harper nods. “Izzy was the same. Heck, she still is. I don’t think
that girl will ever stop nursing. At least, my nipples are used to it
now. It was so bad at the beginning.”
Millie flinches. “Yeah, I wasn’t prepared for that either.”
 Jace gets up and takes Wendy from me. He lifts her to his face
and takes a deep breath before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
“Are you hungry, sweetie?” He looks at Millie who only holds out her
arms. Jace walks back to her and loosens the blanket before placing
Wendy into Millie’s arms.
A sigh escapes my mouth. It’s been equally enchanting and
wistful to watch the two of them go through this exciting experience.
Of course, I’m thrilled for my friends, but the slight swirl of jealousy
keeps popping up in moments like this. The love between these two
is so vivid—the looks between them, the touches and gestures—that
it’s made me question more than once before if what Daniel and I
had was ever real. Thinking back, I can’t remember us ever sharing
this kind of intimacy, not even toward the beginning of our marriage.
I smile once more at the purity in front of me as Wendy latches
on to Millie’s breast, and push off the couch. I give Millie’s shoulders
a soft squeeze when I walk past her. “Do you want anything from
the kitchen?”
She leans her head back and looks at me. “No, I’m good. Thank
you.”
“Okay.” I smile at the woman who has become a dear friend to
me, just like all the other women—and guys. Hunter more than
anyone, probably. Or maybe that’s just because he isn’t involved
with anyone, which only means that dynamic will probably change
down the road too when he will find his other half. Sadly.
The kids scream in the hallway, successfully interrupting my train
of thought. Probably for the better anyway. The last thing I need is
getting depressed over Hunter’s future girlfriend, or my single status.
Nope.
I do not need a guy to be happy.
I do not need a guy to be happy.
 I repeat my new mantra several times over in my head, willing
my brain to believe it even when I have all these enamored couples
around me.
“Hey, Mom.” Mason comes barreling past me, followed by Alex,
and Tanner, all of them still screeching and giggling as they run
toward the kitchen.
A tall body almost collides with me but stops at the last second, a
large hand wrapping around my waist, and a deep, rumbling, “Well,
hello there.”
Only Hunter can throw out a sultry greeting like this in the middle
of playing with the kids. And the smile he aims at me is something
else. One side of his mouth is lifted higher than the other, turning it
into his signature crooked smile that always produces a mini burst of
tingles in my stomach.
There’s just no way not to react, as Hunter’s one of the most
ridiculously charming guys I’ve ever met. I’m pretty sure I saw Chloe
sigh last week too, and she’s stupid in love with my brother.
“Hey.” I smile back at him, something that has always come extra
easy with Hunter.
His brown eyes crinkle at the corners as he stares down at me,
his presence making my poor heart skip just a teeny tiny beat. Okay,
okay, a medium-sized skip. But to be fair, the poor sucker never
stood a chance. This is Hunter we’re talking about, and that’s pretty
much all there is to say about it. He’s like his own phenomenon.
His smile falters enough for me to notice when he holds my gaze
and clears his throat. “Hey.”
When he takes a step back and brushes a hand over his head, I
frown.
I can’t remember the last time Hunter cared about personal
space or anything, at least when he’s his flirty self with me. “You
okay?”
His gaze lingers on me for longer than usual before he tips his
chin once. Then he blows out a breath and rubs his hand over his
chin.
My eyes follow his movement, oddly mesmerized by the motion.
It’s rhythmic and rough, almost punishing.
“You’re not seeing anyone right now, are you?” The words come
out of his mouth in a rush, and my gaze flies back to his, his eyes as
wide as mine feel. “Shit, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean it that
way. I mean, I kinda did but not really. Ugh.”
Silence. Utter silence between us.
I feel like there could be a tornado whizzing past us, and I
wouldn’t notice. Did someone just twilight-zone me? Did Hunter just
ask me what I think he asked me? And then he took it back? Kinda?
I wouldn’t even know how to respond to that even if I was capable
of it. Which I’m definitely not right now.
A weight smacks into my hip and I falter to the right, barely
catching myself.
“Mommy, Mommy, Alex just showed Brutus how to roll over. It’s
the coolest thing ever. I really want a dog too. Someone cool like
Brutus. Someone we can play with, and take for walks, and teach
some tricks, and all sorts of other cool stuff.” He takes a long inhale.
“Can we please have one too, Mommy? Please, please, pretty
please?”
Focusing only on my son, I brush my hand over his soft dark-
blond hair and gaze down into his beautiful blue eyes. His father’s
eyes. “Sweetie, we’ve talked about this a million times before. We
can’t get a dog right now, I’m sorry. Hopefully, in a few years,
okay?”
 “Oh man. That’s not fair.” His lips turn into a pout, and his lower
lip begins to tremble. “I really want to have a dog. Now that Dad
doesn’t live with us anymore, I want someone else in the house I
can play with. Someone besides you and Alex. I like four people in
the house better than just three.”
My heart squeezes at his words. The boys were upset when
Daniel and I separated—there were lots of tears—but all in all,
they’ve taken it in their stride. But sometimes, we run into situations
like these where I’m not always sure what might be brewing
underneath the surface. Has it been worse for them than they’re
letting on? Or is this more of a subconscious issue they don’t even
realize?
I pull him against me and kiss his forehead. “I’m sorry, buddy. I
wish things were different, trust me.”
He presses his face into my stomach and sniffles. I inhale deeply,
begging the parenting gods for patience and guidance.
Hunter clears his throat next to me. Goodness, I was so focused
on Mason that I totally zoned him out.
Mason pulls back and looks at Hunter, who’s crouching down now
next to him. “Can you get us a dog, Hunter?”
I hold back a groan and Hunter chuckles. Hmm, maybe I
imagined him being weird just now. Everyone can have an off day,
even Hunter.
Hunter shakes his head. “Sorry, bud. I’m afraid I can’t do that.
But what do you think about asking Ryan if we could borrow Brutus
sometimes, and we can take him to the park together or to my place
and play with him there?”
Mason’s eyes go wide. “Really? That would be sooooo cool.”
Hunter stands up and holds out his fist for Mason to bump. “I
think so too. Does that mean we have a plan?”
 “Yes. I have to tell Alex.” The smile on my son’s face couldn't be
any wider as he takes off.
Hunter and I stare after him, neither one of us looking away from
the spot he just disappeared at until Hunter bumps his shoulder into
mine. “I hope that was okay.”
“Yes, I think that was a great idea, thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for, but . . .”
“But, what?” And there goes my heart jumping again. After all
the life changes over the last few years with the divorce, I’m a bit
jumpy sometimes. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Hunter flinches. “I’m sorry about my weird question before.”
I shrug, trying to make it less awkward for both of us. “No
worries.”
“Mmm, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about if you
have a moment later?” He doesn’t look any less relaxed, and
suddenly the spot on the floor is really interesting to look at. “Daze?”
I tilt my head back toward him, his face a lot closer than I
thought. He’s actually close enough for me to get a really good look
at the golden flecks in his eyes. So beautiful.
“You want to talk?” My voice hitches at the end, and I bite the
inside of my cheek to keep from grimacing.
“Uh yeah, if you have time.”
“Sure.” Why do I feel like I’m missing something? “You don’t
want to talk right now?”
I have absolutely no chill when it comes to waiting. I’m always
the first one driving myself, and then everyone around me, to
insanity and beyond when I have to wait. For anything. Doesn’t
matter if it’s something major like waiting for my baby, or something
minor like waiting for Hunter to tell me what the heck is going on.
Because now there’s no doubt that something is going on. He’s
acting weird, and Hunter never acts weird.
His gaze flickers around us like he wants to make sure no one’s
eavesdropping.
Now I’m extra paranoid and I look around too. “Do I need to be
worried about anything? Are you all right?”
He tilts his head to the side and pulls his eyebrows together.
When he opens his mouth, I cut him off because like I said, no
chill at all. “You’re not sick or anything like that, are you? Because I
don’t think I could take that. Not after that big revelation with Chloe
just recently. That aged me about ten years, and I’m not sure I can
—”
Warmth engulfs me when Hunter pulls me against him and wraps
his arms around me. I’m caged in so tightly, I might have felt a bit
claustrophobic with anyone else. But not Hunter. His body heat is
enveloping me like a blanket, the even rise of his chest against mine
offering me the reassurance I need.
His breath tickles my ear when he leans closer. “Breathe, Daze.
Everything’s okay. I didn’t mean to worry you. And no, I’m not sick
or anything like that.”
“Thank goodness. Okay, let’s talk later, then.” My eyelids close in
relief as I sag against Hunter’s body.
His very hard body.
What would it be like to feel that every day?
FOUR
 HUNTER

W hen our S unday gathering at R yan ’ s house wraps up , I follow D aisy

home. Now that I’m sitting in her driveway behind the open garage
door, I’m not so sure about my idea anymore. I wasn’t even able to
act normal around her earlier before those stupid words spilled out
of my mouth like I’m a total moron. You’re not seeing anyone right
now, are you?
Ugh. I’m such an idiot.
I take a deep breath, count to four, and let it out again. I do this
several times until Daisy walks out of the garage and lifts her hands
in a what’s going on gesture. She probably thinks I’m losing it. But
seeing her concern did something funny to my insides. She cares.
That might change when I ask her to be my fake girlfriend . . .
I wipe my hands on my jeans and get out of the car. I follow
Daisy into the house without a word and push the button to close
the garage door behind me. The house is almost as familiar to me as
my own, at least the downstairs. When Daisy got divorced, Noah
helped out a lot more with the boys, and since I hung out with Noah
a lot, I spent a lot of time with the boys too, and then more and
more with Daisy consequently too.
 I watch her as she makes sure the boys are settled on the couch
in the living room to watch a movie. The downstairs of her house is
nice with an open area of living space and kitchen. There are mostly
gray colors with some blue and purple accents.
When she walks back over to where I lean against one of the
counters, she briefly catches my gaze before looking away again.
“You’re staying for dinner, right?”
“Sure.”
She nods, and we’re both silent as she busies herself by getting a
large pot out of the cabinets and filling it up with water at the sink.
After placing it on the burner and turning on the blue gas flame
underneath, she finally turns to me and looks me straight in the
eyes. “Okay, tell me what’s going on, please. You’re making me all
nervous again.”
“Sorry.” My chest expands at a deep inhale. Why is this so damn
hard? Most of the time, I don’t even think about what comes out of
my mouth, especially with my family and my friends. But here I am,
acting like I have to confess a huge sin, or something equally bad.
“So spill it already.”
I cross my arms over my chest and nod. “Fine. You remember
that deal with Lock Performance I’ve been after for so long?”
“Of course. You’ve only talked about it five million times.” She
smirks at me, and some of the tension leaves my body.
“Well, they finally put me on the list. I’m officially in the run.”
This time, her mouth splits into a huge smile that reaches all the
way up to her eyes. She walks over to me and throws her arms
around my neck. “That’s amazing. Congratulations. I’m so happy for
you.”
“Thanks.” I uncross my arms—accidentally brushing her breast—
and wrap them around her soft body.
 This hug is different from the one we shared earlier when she
was worried. This time, my body is more relaxed, yet my senses are
on high alert. The exotic smell of her shampoo hits my nostrils. Since
we’ve gone shopping more than once together, I know it’s some
tropical shampoo with pineapple and coconut she uses. It definitely
smells good enough to have a taste. Am I really thinking about
having a taste of her? Damn, how long has it been since I’ve gotten
any?
Reluctantly, I let go of her when she pulls back. “So, if you finally
are a step closer to your dream gig, why do you look like someone
stole your candy?”
She walks to the fridge and pulls out containers of berries before
getting bowls, a cutting board, and a knife.
Just spit it out already, dude.
“Mr. Whitlock is rather old-fashioned and very family-oriented.
He’s been running the company with the same values as his family
before him did. Which is something I’ve always admired, but now it’s
coming to bite me in the ass.”
Daisy looks up from her cutting board, the knife hovering above
a strawberry. “Why’s that?”
“Because my archenemy is on the list as well, who now also
happens to have a fiancée with a baby on the way. Which means my
chances just dropped by a lot. Aaaaaaand after seeing pictures on
social media, Mr. Whitlock also happens to think that we’re dating
and the invitationtothegalanextweekwasextendedtobothofus.”
I take a deep breath and grimace.
“Uh did you just say that we, as in you and I, are invited? As in,
together?”
I can only nod. She does have a sharp knife in her hands.
 “Uh wow . . . Okay.” The knife still hasn’t touched the strawberry
as Daisy stares at me with raised brows. “Is that why you asked me
earlier if I was dating anyone?”
“Yeah.” I flinch, not even wanting to think about how awkward
that was.
“Well, at least it makes a lot more sense now.” She lets out a sigh
and focuses on the task in front of her again.
She cuts berry after berry, dividing them into the bowls equally
before adding some washed blueberries and raspberries too. The
boys are ridiculous when it comes to wanting the exact same
amount of everything, and I swear they can sniff out indifferences
by a mile. Or they go out of their way and count.
Daisy finally looks at me once she’s done with the berries and
has placed everything back into the fridge. She leans one hip against
the counter which automatically makes the curve of her other one
more prominent. I lose the fight and sneak a glance. Okay, maybe
it’s a lingering glance, but no one can blame me. I mean, who
doesn’t like curves? They’re like my kryptonite, and Daisy’s got them
aplenty.
When she moves her arms to cross them over her chest—which
really means pushing up her breasts like there’s no tomorrow—I
swallow. Loudly. Why does this feel like some personal torture right
now?
“Sooooooo? Is there a reason you’re telling me all of this and
acting all weird?” Her brown eyes are on me as she’s waiting for my
answer. Her expression is blank, without being unfriendly, of course,
and I can’t tell if she’s trying to torture me and knows exactly what
I’m trying to ask her, or if she has no clue what I’m about to drop on
her and is cagey.
 Either way, I nod and stand up straighter. “Dave suggested that
attending the gala together might further my chances of winning the
gig.”
“I bet Dave thinks so.” One corner of her mouth twitches. Thank
fuck. “So, you’re asking me to be your fake girlfriend, then?”
My eyes widen at her question but I roll with it. “Only if you’re
okay with it.”
She looks up at the ceiling and moves her lips left and right
before fixing her gaze back at me. “And this is for the gala?”
I nod. She can’t . . . is she really considering this? I grip the
counter behind me, squeezing the cool surface under my fingers.
“And you said it’s next weekend?”
“Yeah.”
She shrugs. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, why not? Daniel will have the boys that weekend, and I
haven’t had a real night out in forever.”
Hope and gratefulness battle in my chest as I close the distance
between us and pick her up. She squeals as I spin her around, and
the boys come rushing over with grins on their faces.
Mason jumps up and down. “Oooh, can you spin me around too,
Hunter? Please, please.”
“Me too, me too.” Alex claps his hands.
“Of course.” I let Daisy slide down my body and hold in a wince
as her body brushes over my dick. When her feet hit the floor, I hold
her flush against me for another moment, my mouth right next to
her ear. “Thank you so much. I owe you. Big-time.”
“It’s nothing.” Her words are a whisper, and I’m sure she means
them. What she doesn’t know though is how much this truly means
to me. Her willingness to go to the gala with me and pretend to be
my girlfriend, and also what this whole gig means to me. I’ve never
wanted anything in life as badly as I want this endorsement. I wasn’t
kidding when I said I owe her. I’m indebted to her more than she’ll
ever know.
After another squeeze, I let her go and focus on the boys,
basking in their delighted screams as I spin them around the room
until they’re dizzy, and Daisy says dinner is ready.
I help Daisy dish up the pasta she made and make sure the boys
get their strawberry bowl too. They gulp down the food like hungry
animals, their eating manners pretty similar too. Pasta sauce is
smeared around their mouths, and Alex dropped some on his lap
earlier, which naturally landed on his shirt first.
Mason is back to his favorite topic, dogs, especially after a visit to
Ryan’s. This time, he’s leaving his mom alone though and grills me
instead. “And Ryan really said it’s okay and we can borrow Brutus
sometime to play?”
I nod. “He did.”
“Wow. That’s so cool. I have to tell Connor at school tomorrow.
He’s going to be so excited too. Maybe one day he can come and
play with Brutus too.”
Daisy shakes her head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?
Ryan and Harper are very kind to let us borrow Brutus to begin with.
We don’t need to drive the poor thing completely crazy, right?”
Mason makes a pout. “Okay, Mom.”
Alex straightens up in his chair with an excited grin. “Can he
sleep with me in my bed?”
“I don’t think we’ll keep him overnight, sweetie. Ryan, Harper,
and Izzy are going to miss him if he doesn’t come back, you know?”
“Okay.” His lip starts to quiver as he looks down into his pasta.
 My chest suddenly feels like someone put a fifty-pound weight on
it. I nudge Alex’s arm and wait for him to look up. His eyes are shiny,
and I have to force my smile to stay put at the sight. “Guess what,
though? I bet we can lie down with him on the couch and watch a
show or something. That’s almost like a sleepover, right?”
His head bobs up and down, and he thinks about it for a
moment. “I think that counts.” Then he turns to Mason with a grin.
“Did you hear that? We’re going to have a couch sleepover with
Brutus.”
“Yeah. I’m so excited.”
“Me too.”
And then, like nothing just transpired, they go back to shovel
more pasta in their mouths, while I feel like I just sidestepped a
possible landmine.
Daisy’s hand lands on my arm, and my attention springs to her
as she mouths, “Thank you.”
I mouth, “Of course,” back, because what did I really do?
When we’re done eating, I help Daisy clean up while the boys
play in their rooms. They’re so distracted by the Lego houses they’re
building they barely notice when I say goodbye to them.
Daisy walks me to the door and opens it. She holds the doorknob
with one hand and leans her body against the frame. Somehow that
motion makes her seem young and playful. Or maybe it’s just the
look on her face. There’s no denying that she’s tired—even though I
doubt there are many single moms with young kids that aren’t—but
she also looks carefree. There’s that same spark in her eyes that was
there earlier when she told me she’d go with me next week.
“Thanks for tonight, and thanks again for agreeing to come with
me to the gala. I’ll pay you back somehow. I can babysit the boys or
something.”
 She chuckles. “Oh please. You’re treating me to an evening out.
That’s as close to going on a date as I’ll probably get in the next few
years, so I should probably thank you.”
That stops my train of thought. This isn’t something we usually
talk about, so I’m not sure what ground we’re on when it comes to
dating or relationships. “You don’t plan on dating in the next few
years?”
A loud sigh blows through her lips. “I don’t know. Maybe?
Probably not? I barely have time for anything these days. I don’t
know where I’d fit in a new guy to date right now. It sounds way too
exhausting.”
“Huh.” Does Daisy ever date? If she does, Noah’s never
mentioned it. She’s gorgeous, so why hasn’t anyone snapped her
up? Because she doesn’t do anything other than work and look after
her boys, Hunter. But—
“Good thing I have a fake boyfriend now.” Her lips quirk up again
and she winks at me.
“That you do.” I tip my chin at her. “It will be the best fake date
ever.”
Especially since we all know that your excuse of an ex-husband
didn’t take you out very often, but of course I don’t say that. But I’ll
be damned if she won’t have the best time.
“I count on it.”
And even though she’s helping me, I’m going to make sure she
has the best date next weekend. She deserves to be taken care of
for once.
FIVE
 DAISY

“W hat was I thinking ? W ho agrees to something like this ?” I get off

the bed and walk around my bedroom, trying to sidestep the chaos I
left earlier when I tried to find my sexy underwear, along with my
Spanx. Why on earth I need sexy underwear when I wear my body-
condom contraption, I have no clue. That logic isn’t lost on me
either, but I blame it on my nerves.
“Calm your tits, Daisy Doo. You’re going to sweat off the small
amount of makeup you managed to put on if you continue like this.”
Vicky sends me a look that instantly takes my hyperactive mind
down a notch. How she’s able to glare at me while also looking
sympathetic will forever be a mystery to me. “Everything is going to
be fine.”
“It’s going to be the worst fake date ever.” I barely refrain from
throwing my hands in the air and asking the heavens for answers. I
mean, how is this going to go down? Are there rules? How am I
supposed to behave on a fake date? Are there certain things he
wants me to do?
A champagne glass appears in front of me, the golden liquid
bubbling with unadulterated excitement. I don’t know where nor
how Vicky got this so quickly, but I’m not about to question her
Another random document with
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 have hammered out, some means of clearly stating his
thought.”

Boileau, who is denied the poetic afflatus, but who certainly

possessed common sense, and plenty of it, informs us:

“Ce que l’on conçoit bien s’énonce clairement.”

(That which is clearly grasped is plainly said.)

“Just so, Nicolas! Yes, clearness, always clearness. He calls a

cat a cat. Let us do the same: let [322]us call gibberish a most
learned prose, to afford a pretext for repeating Voltaire’s witty
remark: ‘When the listener does not understand and the
speaker himself does not know what he is saying, that is
metaphysics.’ Let us add: ‘And abstruse science.’ ”

My conviction is that we can say excellent things without

using a barbarous vocabulary. Lucidity is the sovereign
politeness of the writer. I do my best to achieve it. 20

Thanks to his love of lucidity and simplicity, as much

as to his frank and modest spirit, he had a horror of
verbal snobbery and juggling with pretentious words.
Official science itself, and, as he says bluntly, “official
jargon,” 21 find no more favour in his eyes than the
sins of incidental writers.

As a boy [writes Fabre] I was always an ardent reader; but the

refinements of a well-balanced style hardly interested me: I
did not understand them. A good deal later, when close upon
fifteen, I began vaguely to see that words have a
physiognomy of their own. Some pleased me better than
others by the distinctness of their meaning and the resonance
of their rhythm; they produced a clearer image in my mind;
 after their fashion, they gave me a picture of the objects
described. Coloured [323]by its adjective and vivified by its
verb, the name became a living reality: what it said I saw. And
thus, gradually, was the magic of words revealed to me, when
the chances of my undirected reading placed a few easy
standard pages in my way. 22

The magic of words! He has done more than

discover it in the pages of other writers. He has
illustrated it on every page of his own writings,
adapting it so exactly to the magic of things that it
delights the scientist as Nature herself would, and
enchants the poet and the man of letters as only the
masterpieces of art and literature have power to do.
[324]

1 Souvenirs, IX., pp. 184–186. The Life of the Fly, chap. xiii., “Mathematical
Memories: My Little Table.” ↑
2 E. Perrier, Revue hebdomadaire, October 22, 1910. ↑
3 Revue Scientifique, May 7, 1910. ↑
4 Our eminent compatriot will forgive the writer for quoting the following passage
from a letter of his, which so fully expresses both his admiration for our hero
and his profound affection for the land of our fathers: “For the second time, on
reading in the Journal d’Aveyron your comprehensive and loving study of the life
and work of your illustrious namesake, I was agreeably surprised to see that you
compared our characters and our work. This comparison is extremely flattering to
me, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.… It is indeed a somewhat
curious thing that two Rouergats should have conceived the idea of celebrating the
Animals; that both should have been led by their destiny to Provence; that both
should have had the course of their lives affected by the intervention of Duruy, etc.
It is true that one must not push these analogies too far. Duruy merely advanced
me from the Normal College of Rodez to that of Cluny; and in so doing, alas! he
uprooted me.… As for the Animals, what are the poetic fancies which I have
dedicated to them beside the masterly essays of the man who has been called ‘the
Homer of the insects!’ ” M. Fabié does not dispute, any more than we ourselves,
that Fabre’s fame quite legitimately belongs [302]to Provence, which has become
his second country; he merely regrets that we in our “loyal kingdom” have too long
allowed our good friends of the Empire to monopolise him. ↑
5 Cours élémentaire d’histoire naturelle: Zoologie, p. 1, 5th edition. ↑
6 Cours élémentaire d’Astronomie, p. 272, 7th edition. ↑
7 Op. cit., “Avertissement ou Avant-Propos du Directeur de la collection,
couronnée par l’Académie française.” ↑
8 Souvenirs, II., p. 3. The Life of the Fly, chap. i., “The Harmas.” ↑
9 Dedication of vol. II. of the Souvenirs. ↑
10 Souvenirs, II., p. 4. The Life of the Fly, chap. i., “The Harmas.” ↑
11 The Cicada is the Cigale, an insect akin to the Grasshopper and found more
particularly in the south of France. Cf. Social Life in the Insect World, chaps. i.–
iv., and The Life of the Grasshopper, chaps. i.–v.—A. T. de M. ↑
12 F. Marguet, Revue des Deux Mondes, December 15, 1910. ↑
13 Ibid. ↑
14 F. Marguet, op. cit. ↑
15 F. Marguet, op. cit. ↑
16 Souvenirs, IV., p. 222. ↑
17 Fabre, Poet of Science, G. V. Legros, pp. 147, 149. ↑
18 F. Marguet, op. cit. ↑
19 Fabre, Poet of Science, G. V. Legros, translated by Bernard Miall, pp. 159–
160. ↑
20 Souvenirs, X., pp. 100, 101. ↑
21 Souvenirs, VI., p. 296. ↑
22 Souvenirs, IX., pp. 176–178. The Mason Bees, chap. xi., “The Jeucoopes.” ↑
[Contents]
CHAPTER XX
 FABRE’S WRITINGS (CONTINUED)
In attempting to define the point of view, the method,
and the style of the author of the Souvenirs, we have
broadly sketched the general characteristics of his
work. In order to complete our task, and to give a
clear and comprehensive idea of his art, we will now
venture upon a rapid analysis not of the author’s
attitude but of the content of his works.

The Souvenirs entomologiques bear a sub-title which

perfectly describes their essential and characteristic
elements. They are offered as “Studies in the
Instincts and Habits of the Insects,” which promise us
both theoretical considerations and records of facts:

At the very outset, and to judge only very superficially, it

seems that these latter are the essential part of the work, and
the author must be considered before all as an admirable
anecdotist, or, if you will, a chronicler of animal life. But we
very [325]soon perceive, on reading him, how much method,
selection, and persevering determination have presided over
all these investigations, which may appear almost incoherent,
and are, on the contrary, profoundly systematic and definitely
ordered. 1

François Coppée, in a delightful story, shows us an austere

landscape gardener fiercely destroying all the sparrows and,
 above all, the blackbirds, which disturb and dishonour the
magnificent symmetry of his paths, which were clipped
straight with the aid of a taut cord. Our gentleman does not
leave a single one alive.… But on the other side of the party
wall is a true poet, who, not having the same æsthetic, buys
every day a quantity of birds in the market, and indefatigably
“puts back the blackbirds” into his neighbour’s shrubberies. 2

Fabre’s work is that of a conscientious architect who

has sought to keep the shrubberies and alleys of his
garden in strict order, but the racial poet lurking
behind the architect has released so many blackbirds
that he seems to have destroyed the tidiness of the
garden. Just at first, the Souvenirs produce
somewhat the same impression as the harmas,
where the thousand actors of the rural stage follow
one another, appear and reappear, at varied
intervals, at the will [326]of opportunity or caprice,
without premeditated order. But the observer is not
always master of his encounters and discoveries,
and Fabre wished to give us, in his books, the faithful
record of his observations, and afford us the pleasure
in our turn of those unexpected encounters, those
marvellous discoveries which made his life an
enchantment, and which lend his narrative an
interest equal to that of the most dramatic romance.

Yet there has been a selection, a definite

arrangement of the vast collection of data collected in
the ten volumes of the Souvenirs.

But this arrangement and this selection are by no

means inspired by the official classifications. We may
attempt, as many eminent naturalists have done, to
class his various monographs in the classic manner.
We shall then say, with M. Perrier, that he is not
greatly occupied with the Lepidoptera, that he studies
more particularly the Hymenoptera, Coleoptera, and
Orthoptera, without neglecting the Arachnoids, which
are Arthropods, not insects properly so called. It is a
fact that this singular entomologist prefers the
horrible Spiders, to whom all the good text-books
refuse the name of insect, to the most beautiful
Butterflies. It is true [327]that he is especially attracted
by the four-winged flies, the Wasps and wild Bees,
the Dung-Beetles and Necrophori, the Mantes,
Grasshoppers, and Scorpions; but this is not
because of any particular affection for this group or
on account of their quality of Hymenoptera,
Coleoptera, and Orthoptera; for many of their
congeners are neglected and many insects are
selected out of their order. This is bound to be the
case, for the official classification is conceived on
totally different lines to his own, going by the form of
the insect without heeding its actions and its habits. It
is much the same with the official nomenclature.
“If, by chance, an amalgam of Greek or Latin gives a
meaning which alludes to its manner of life, the
reality is very often in disagreement with the name,
because the classifier, working over a necropolis, has
outstripped the observer, whose attention is fixed
upon the community of the living.” 3

So the historian of the insects takes the greatest

liberties with official science and the official
language.

A Spider is not an insect, according to the rules of

classification; and as such the Epeira seems out [328]of place
here. A fig for systems! It is immaterial to the student of
instinct whether the animal have eight legs instead of six, or
pulmonary sacs instead of air-tubes. 4

Above all, Fabre is interested in the study of instinct.

It is this that determines his choice of the species
and the data with which he occupies his leisure and
entertains his readers.

Led by this purpose, allured by this vision, he turns

by preference to the most richly-endowed species,
disdaining the inept, though they may be the most
beautiful and the most resplendent, like the
Butterflies; and he is often attracted by creatures,
great or small, which have scarcely anything in
common with the insects save their habits. Thus the
ferocity of the Spiders will justify their taking rank
next to the Scorpions, the Mantes and the
Grasshoppers, the cruelest and most ancient of
terrestrial creatures.

Fabre, in fact, seldom departed from the world of

insects, because it is in this little world that the
greatest miracles of instinct are manifested, in
accordance with the entomologist’s motto Maxima in
minimis. [329]And, as though to increase this
prodigious contrast, it often happens that the most
remarkable instincts are allotted to the smallest and
most despised of insects:

Among the insects it is often the case that one well known to
all is a mere simpleton, while another, unknown, has real
capacity. Endowed with talents worthy of attention, it remains
misunderstood; rich in costume and imposing in deportment,
it is familiar to us. We judge it by its coat and its size, as we
judge our neighbour by the fineness of his clothes and the
place which he occupies. The rest does not count.

Certainly, in order to deserve historical honours, it is as well

that the insect should possess a popular reputation. It
reassures the reader, who is at once precisely informed;
further, it shortens the narrative, rids it of long and tedious
descriptions. On the other hand, if size facilitates observation,
if grace of form and brilliance of costume captivate the eye,
we should do wrong not to take this outward show into
account.
 But far more important are the habits, the ingenious
operations, which give entomological studies their serious
attraction. Now it will be found that among the insects the
largest, the most splendid, are usually inept creatures: a
contradiction which is reproduced elsewhere. What can we
expect from a Carabas, all glittering with metallic lights?
Nothing but feasting in the slime of [330]murdered snail. What
of the Cetonia, escaped, one would think, from a jeweller’s
show-case? Nothing but drowsing in the heart of a rose.
These splendid creatures do nothing; they have no art or
craft.

But, on the other hand, if we are seeking original inventions,

artistic masterpieces and ingenious contrivance, let us apply
to the humblest, more often than not unknown to all. And let
us not be repulsed by appearances. Ordure reserves for us
beautiful and curious things of which we should not find the
like upon the rose. So far the Minotaur has enlightened us by
her family habits. Long live modesty and littleness! 5

The small and modest, provided they are valiant and

ingenious, and more generally all those that
commend themselves by unusual habits or singular
technical aptitudes: such are the insects investigated
by the author of the Souvenirs. These he follows up
for years, sometimes in their natural environment,
sometimes in his laboratory. He inquires into their
manner of assuring themselves and their race of a
livelihood, their fashion of behaviour toward their
congeners and their offspring; their industry and their
habits are his two chief preoccupations, those which
are brought into prominence by the [331]sub-title of his
book: “Studies in the Instincts and Habits of the
Insects,” and the titles of the two volumes of
selections which have been published for the general
reader: La Vie des Insectes and Les Mœurs des
Insectes.

It is, therefore, about these two principal themes,

which are, for that matter, very closely connected and
very subject to mutual interpenetration, that the data
amassed in the ten volumes of the Souvenirs must
be grouped and distributed, if we wish to attempt a
classification in harmony with the character of the
books and the nature of their contents.

By thus assuming the point of view of the author

himself and adopting the principle and the form of his
classifications and denominations, we shall discover,
in this little entomological world, which seems to
have been staged a little at random, a society as rich
and varied as our own, in which almost all trades and
all characters are represented, all the industries and
habits of humanity.

Here, as among us, are honest toilers and free-

booters, producers and parasites; good and bad
husbands and wives; examples of beautiful devotion
and hideous egoism; delightful amenities and
ferocious cruelties, extending [332]even to cannibalism;
workers of every class and manufacturers of every
kind, and, in a higher order of capacities, engineers
and surgeons, chemists and physicists, naturalists
and physiologists, topographers and meteorologists,
geometricians and logicians, and many more, whose
enumeration we will leave to the reader.

“Let us assemble facts in order to obtain ideas,” said

Buffon. In this process may be summed up the whole
of the great Provençal naturalist’s scientific work. If
he notes the least circumstances of the little lives that
unfold themselves before his eyes, he does so not
merely as an observer and an artist who would not
miss the smallest element of knowledge or beauty,
but also as a philosopher who wishes to understand
all that he sees, and for that reason neglects nothing.
In entomology the smallest facts are not only the
most curious and picturesque, they are often the
most significant: maxima in minimis. Those minute
details which are in danger of being regarded as
“puerilities are connected with the most solemn
questions which it is possible for man to consider.” 6
[333]

There are philosophical meditations in Fabre’s work,

evoked by his observations, and, like his
observations, they are not presented in a
preconceived order. His arguments are scattered
throughout his work. Nowhere in the Souvenirs is
there any body of doctrine. They contain only studies
of the habits of individual insects; and it is only when
he has gathered certain data or made certain
experiments that the author gives us his conclusions
or explanations or attacks the errors of the theories in
vogue.

Yet it is not difficult, such is their degree of

prominence and continuity, to disengage and
synthesise the general ideas scattered throughout
this vast collection of facts. We shall make the
attempt in order to give the reader at least a glimpse
of the writer’s attitude toward the problems of science
and of life.

From the achievements and actions of the insects,

the philosophic mind of the naturalist first of all
deduces, very clearly, the general laws of their
activity.

What strikes us at once is the wonderful degree of

knowledge presupposed by certain of their actions:
for all that instinct impels the insect to do is marked
by perfect wisdom, comparable and even superior to
[334]human wisdom. This first law of instinct is brought
into especial prominence by the author of the
Souvenirs in his study of the Hunting Wasps.

These Wasps, which are themselves purely

vegetarian, know that their larvæ must have animal
food; fresh succulent flesh still quivering with life.

Some, like the Common Wasp, which watches over

the growth of its offspring, feed the larvæ from day to
day, as the bird brings beakfuls of food to its
nestlings, and these kill their prey, which they are
thus able to serve to their larvæ perfectly fresh.

But the majority do not watch over the hatching or

the growth of their larvæ. They are forced therefore
to lay up a store of food beforehand. They know this,
and are not found wanting. But here they are
confronted by a most difficult problem. If the prey
carried to the nest is dead, it will quickly putrefy; it
cannot possibly keep fresh, as it must, for the weeks
and months of the larva’s growth. If it is alive it
cannot easily be seized by the larvæ, and will
represent a menace or even a deadly danger. The
Wasp must discover the secret of producing, in her
victims, the immobility of death together with the
incorruptibility of life. And the [335]Wasps have
discovered this secret, for the prey which they
provide for their larvæ remain at their disposal to the
end without movement and without deterioration. Do
these tiny creatures know intuitively the secrets of
asepsis which Pasteur discovered with so much
difficulty? Such was the conclusion with which Dufour
was forced to content himself. He presumed the
existence, in the Hunting Wasps, of a virus which
was at once a weapon of the chase and a liquid
preservative, for the immolation and conservation of
the victims. But even if aseptic a dead insect would
shrivel up into a mummy. Now this must not occur,
and as a matter of fact the Wasp’s victims remain
moist indefinitely, just as if alive. And in reality they
are not dead; they are still alive. Fabre has
demonstrated this by proving the persistence of the
organic functions, and by feeding some of them by
hand. In short, it is incontestable that the victims are
not put to death but merely deprived of movement,
smitten with paralysis. How has this result, more
miraculous even than asepsis, been obtained by the
insect? By the procedure that the most skilful
physiologist would employ. By plunging its sting into
the victim’s body, not at random, which might kill it,
but at certain definite [336]points, exactly where the
invisible nervous ganglia are located which control
the various movements.

For the rest, the operative method varies according

to the species and anatomy of the victim.
In his investigation of the paralysers, Dufour was
unable to imagine any other weapon of the chase
than the mere inoculation of a deadly virus; the
Hymenopteron has invented a means of immobilising
her victim without killing it, of abolishing its
movements without destroying its organic functions,
of dissociating the nervous system of the vegetative
life from that of the life of reaction; to spare the first
while annihilating the second, by the precise
adaptation of this delicate surgery to the victim’s
anatomy and physiology. Dufour was unable to
provide anything better for the larva’s larder than
mummified victims, shrivelled and more or less
flavourless; the Hymenopteron provided them with
living prey, endowed with the strange prerogative of
keeping fresh indefinitely without food and without
movement, thanks to paralysis, far superior in this
connection to asepsis.

“He, the master, skilled among the skilful, trained in

the finest operations of [337]anatomy; he who, with
lens and scalpel, had examined the whole
entomological series, leaving not a corner
unexplored; he, finally, who has nothing more to
learn of the organisation of the insect, can think of
nothing better than an antiseptic fluid which gives at
least an appearance of an explanation of a fact that
leaves him confounded,” and of which he has not
discovered the full miracle. The author of this
immortal discovery rightly insists on “this comparison
between the insect’s instinct and the scientist’s
reason, the better to reveal in its true light the
crushing superiority of the insect.”

As though to give yet another verification of the

words so justly applied to entomology—maxime
miranda in minimis—the larva’s science is perhaps
even more disconcerting than that of the perfect
insect.

The Scolia’s larva stupefies us by the order in which

it proceeds to devour its victim.

“It proceeds from the less essential to the more

essential, in order to preserve a remnant of life to the
very last. In the first place it absorbs the blood which
issues from the wound which it has made in the skin;
then it proceeds to the fatty matter enveloping the
internal organs; then the muscular layer lining the
skin; and then, in the [338]last place, the essential
organs and the nerve-centres.” 7 “We thus have the
spectacle of an insect which is eaten alive, morsel by
morsel, during a period of nearly a fortnight,
becoming empty and emaciated and collapsing upon
itself,” while preserving its succulence and moisture
to the end.
Starting with these typical facts, which testify to an
infallible foresight and a perfect adaptation of the
means to the end, the list might be indefinitely
prolonged with the aid of Fabre’s memoirs. But these
are enough to show us that “what instinct tells the
animal is marvellously like what reason tells us,” so
that we find nothing unnatural in Fabre’s exclamation
when he is confronted by the profound knowledge of
the Hymenopteron and “the sublime logic of her
stings.” “Proud Science, humble yourself!” All this
presumes, in short, in the microscopic little creatures
an astonishingly rational inspiration which adapts
means to the end with a logic that confounds us.

And all this would be very much to the credit of the

insect and to the disadvantage of man if there were
not a reverse side to the medal. But the same insect
that confounds us by its knowledge and wisdom also
[339]disconcerts us by its ignorance and stupidity.

The best-endowed insect cannot do anything

“outside the narrow circle of its attributions. Every
insect displays, in its calling, in which it excels, its
series of logically co-ordinated actions. There it is
truly a master.” 8 Apart from this it is utterly incapable.
And even within the cycle of its attributions, apart
from the customary conditions under which it
exercises them, the ineptness of the insect
surpasses imagination.

Let us consider the facts.

One of these Hymenoptera whose impeccable

science we were admiring just now, a Languedocian
Sphex, is busy closing the burrow in which she has
laid her egg with its store of game. We brush her
aside, and plunder her nest before her eyes. Directly
the passage is free, she enters and remains for a few
moments. Then she emerges and proceeds to stop
up the cell, as though nothing were the matter, as
though she had not found her burrow empty, as
though the work of closing the cell had still a motive. 9

The Mason-Bee, excellently endowed in the matter of

boring, emerges from her nest [340]of mortar by
piercing the earthen dome which covers it. Let us
cover the nest from which the Bee is about to
emerge with a little paper bag. If the bag is placed in
contact with the nest so as to make one piece with it,
so to speak, the Bee perforates it and liberates
herself. If it is not in contact with the nest, she
remains imprisoned and will let herself die without
perforating the bag.