Page 7 of (Not Really) Faking It With My Best Friend's Brother

Nate listened intently, asking thoughtful questions and making me feel truly seen. Soon, I found myself talking about my dreams of starting a blog and the challenges I faced putting myself out there.

"You should do it," Nate nudged gently. "I can see how much you love reading and writing."

In turn, he confided in me about his own struggles - the pressures of being a doctor and his perfectionist tendencies. I was struck by his honesty and humility. Underneath his charm lay a complexity I never expected.

"You really love what you do, don't you?" My admiration grew with each story he shared.

"More than anything." I could see a softness touching his features as he spoke about his work. "It's not just a job. It's a part of who I am.”

For a fleeting second, I allowed myself to imagine this wasn't our only date—that maybe, just maybe, Nate Reynolds saw something in me beyond the quiet librarian he thought he knew.

But before I could linger on the thought, he cleared his throat, breaking the spell. "Speaking of work. I should probably head home," he glanced at his watch. "Early shift tomorrow."

I tamped down the disappointment that threatened to seep into my words. "Thank you for tonight, Nate. It was...unexpectedly nice."

"Likewise." He stood and offered me a hand up. "And Susan? About that blog—I meant what I said. You should write it."

We made our way to the door. Nate reached out, his fingers brushing against mine as he pulled the door open, sending an involuntary shiver up my arm.

"Thank you." I stepped past him onto the sidewalk, trying to hide the thrill I felt from his touch.

"Goodnight, then." He offered a half-wave, awkwardness creeping into his voice.

"Goodnight, Nate."

And with that, he was gone, swallowed up by the shadows of the evening. I wrapped my arms around myself, taking the first steps toward my house, which wasn’t too far from town. The familiar streets of Rivermint Cove were quiet, allowing me the space to think.

I had always seen Nate through the lens of distant admiration, a figure just out of reach. But tonight, he was tangible. It was strange as if the world had tilted slightly on its axis.

I paused outside, staring at the house, its windows glowing with the soft light of domesticity. In one deep breath, I tried to suck in the courage that seemed to have deserted me somewhere between Nate's smile and his awkward goodnight.

My key turned in the lock with a satisfying click, but the warmth that welcomed me did little to thaw the frost of doubt encasing my heart. I hung my keys on the key rack beside the door and crept to my room, trying not to disturb my mom. It was awkward living with my mom, but when my brother left for the military, it just made sense to move back home. My mom never liked living alone, plus she couldn’t really afford to keep the house by herself.

"Ridiculous," I murmured to the empty room, chiding myself for the flicker of hope that danced perilously close to reality. Nate Reynolds, the epitome of compassion wrapped in a disarmingly handsome package, had no reason to call again. Our date was a product of chance, a quirk of technology – nothing more.

Of course, I would tell Emily everything. The thought twisted in my gut, souring the remnants of coffee that lingered on my tongue. We'd laugh about it, her laughter more genuine than mine, while I'd conjure up every ounce of indifference I could muster. "Imagine being matched with your brother on 'Find Your Mate on a Blind Date'! What are the odds?" I’d say, my voice light, betraying nothing of the secret wish that nestled deep within me, a wish that he might feel even a fraction of what I felt.

Slipping out of my jacket, I draped it over the back of a chair. The mirror by the door caught my reflection, blue eyes staring back at me, searching for the strength to face tomorrow. I'd go back to my books, to the quiet predictability of Dewey Decimal numbers and hushed corridors. There, in the ordered rows of literature, I could pretend that Nate's gaze didn't ignite something wild within me, that his presence wasn't a song I longed to hear on repeat.

"Get a grip, Susan," I scolded my reflection. A rueful smile tugged at my lips as I watched the hopeful gleam in my eyes dim into resignation. He was just being polite, wasn’t he? That’s what people do when they realize they’ve accidentally stumbled on a date with their little sister's best friend.

I reached for the light switch, plunging the room into darkness, save for the moonlight that spilled through the window. The moonlight cast shadows that played across the floor like whispers of what might have been.

In the quiet of my room, the world outside seemed a distant memory, a realm where anything was possible. But here, surrounded by my carefully curated sanctuary, reality lay bare. Dreams were luxuries that someone like me couldn’t afford to indulge in.

Chapter four

Nate

The bitter coffee scalded my tongue, but I welcomed the pain. It distracted me from replaying the date with Susan in my head for the hundredth time. I stared into the dark liquid, grasping the warmth of the mug, and tried to lose myself in the rising wisps of steam.

It was almost comical how that one encounter could monopolize my mind. I was in my senior year when Susan and Emily became freshmen. Then I went off to college and then med school. I had seen her around town a few times, but it never really hit me before how much she had grown up and how attractive she had become. I never would have thought that we would match up on a dating app.

Her quiet grace and witty sense of humor had caught me off guard. She seemed so awkward as a teenager when she stayed over with Emily. It was as if a door had opened, revealing a side of Susan I'd never known - a side that had always been hidden behind the quiet, bookish exterior she presented to the world. And now that I'd glimpsed it, I found myself wanting more.

The click of heels on tile pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up to see Tiffany marching across the cafeteria, spine rigid and lips pursed. Her piercing gaze targeted me. I suppressed a grimace.

She halted at my table, manicured nails tapping out a staccato rhythm. "Nate, we need to talk." Though her tone was light, an undercurrent of tension hummed beneath the surface.

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