Page 5 of (Not Really) Faking It With My Best Friend's Brother

"Good. I just wanted to remind you about our movie night on Tuesday. Don't forget, okay? I haven’t seen my big brother enough lately." I could imagine the stern look she was giving me through the phone, knowing all too well how my work could consume me, especially after losing both of our parents in a car wreck a little over a year ago.

"I won't," I promised, grateful for our closeness. "I’m looking forward to some little sis time."

As I hung up the phone, I couldn't help but think about what Ethan had said earlier. I deserved to find something special and make time for my own happiness. And maybe that happiness was waiting for me in the form of Boundless Bookworm.

Chapter three

Susan

The bell above the door chimed a familiar tune as I stepped into Rosewood Cafe, the scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon teasing my senses. My heart was doing an awkward dance, fluttering between excitement and sheer terror. I scanned the room for my mystery date.

It was then that my gaze locked onto a figure etched deep in the archives of my teenage diary. Nate Reynolds, Emily's older brother, who unknowingly starred in all my high school daydreams. He sat there with his phone in hand, looking as handsome as ever.

"Is this some kind of cosmic joke?" I muttered under my breath. The idea of fleeing crossed my mind, but before I could retreat, our eyes met.

His expression mirrored mine—a mix of surprise and something I dared not decipher. Nate's eyes widened a fraction, and for a moment, he seemed to falter like the steady doctor had misplaced his usual composure.

"Get it together, Susan," I chided myself silently. Just stay cool. You've got this.

I took a deep breath and willed my legs to move. His lopsided smile still made my knees weak.

Nate casually sat his phone on the table and stood up as I approached, his smug composure back in full swing.

"Hi, Nate," I managed to say, a smile squeezing its way through the nervousness.

"Hey, Susan." His voice was calm, a gentle tone that always seemed to ease others. "I guess the app has a sense of humor."

"Or a twisted sense of irony," I quipped back, trying to match his lightness.

Nate pulled out my chair, ever the gentleman. This was not how I imagined my first date in years going—not even close. I took a seat, my pulse still fluttering as our eyes met again.

We sat down simultaneously, and I couldn't help but steal quick glances at him – the way his dark hair fell just over his forehead, how his blue eyes seemed more pronounced against the wooden backdrop of the cafe wall. It was all too easy to let my thoughts drift back to those teenage years when I'd scribble 'Mrs. Susan Reynolds' in the margins of my notebooks, only to erase it moments later.

"So, um, how've you been?" Nate's voice broke into my thoughts.

"Good, good. The library's been keeping me busy," I said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "And you?"

"Same old. The hospital's always bustling." He tapped his fingers on the table, a rhythmless beat betraying his nerves.

"Nice weather we're having," I blurted out, cringing internally at the dryness of my words. Was I really resorting to talking about the weather?

"Definitely. Spring's finally showing up, huh?" He glanced out the window where the evening sun cast a golden hue over Rivermint Cove's quaint streets.

"Sure is. Love the... uh, blossom smell." My cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Was 'blossom smell' even a thing?

"Me too," he agreed, his lips twitching as if suppressing a smile. Did he find my awkwardness amusing or endearing? I hoped for the latter but expected the former.

As our conversation stumbled forward, I caught myself watching the way he held his coffee cup – with a kind of gentle sureness. I remembered Emily telling me once how Nate would practice sutures on oranges during med school; his hands were always steady and precise. And now here he was, probably wondering how an app could think we were a match.

"I never thought I'd be sitting across from you at Rosewood Cafe on a... well, you know," I said, trailing off.

"Date?" he supplied, the word hanging between us like a delicate soap bubble, ready to pop.

I was about to respond when the cafe door swung open, the cheerful bell above it jangling. My stomach dropped as I recognized the blond-haired woman gliding in.

Tiffany Wells, Rivermint Cove's resident socialite and Nate's number-one fan, locked eyes with me, and hers narrowed into a glare. Before I could react, she made a beeline for our table.

"Of all the coffee shops in Rivermint Cove," I muttered under my breath, watching as Tiffany's gaze sharpened upon seeing us together. Her heels clicked against the wooden floor like a metronome, counting down to an unavoidable confrontation.

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