Page 58 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

Maybe he’d get the chance to tell her eventually.

It was that maybe, on top of his success at the meeting, that had Nik leaving the foundation’s offices with a grin on his face and a bounce in his step. He pulled out his phone to text Varo.

And saw a notification he hadn’t expected, but desperately wanted. One that took his tentative happiness, strapped a rocket to it, and sent it soaring across the sky like a comet.

Aria had finally replied.

Your taste in Vines has improved since the last time we emailed. Must be my influence.

His grin was so wide, it felt like he might break his own face. He almost dropped the phone in his haste to reply.

Definitely. I’d say you’ve improved a lot of things about me.

He paced the street as he waited for her answer, ignoring his parked car. He couldn’t sit in a confined space right now. Not when bright, burning hope was bursting inside him. He traced his own footsteps across the tarmac five times before his phone vibrated in his hand.

Suck-up. How are you?

Right now, I’m very good. Excellent. Fantastic. Never better. How are you? How are things going with the shop?

I’m okay. They’re good, actually. I’m looking at locations and enjoying being rich. Although 350k doesn’t go as far as I thought it would. Is that why you guys hoard wealth?

Nik didn’t bother holding back his laughter. He started to type out ‘I miss you’, then shook his head and deleted it.

Maybe. But you might be interested to know that my latest occupation is unpaid.

You’re being circumspect to pique my interest. I know your games.

He would be worried about that last email, except she followed it up with a winking emoji. An emoji! That little yellow face almost gave him heart failure. She was… sharing emotions? Tiny, graphic emotions. With him. Positive ones, even. All of a sudden, every word he typed seemed like the word that could potentially ruin unbelievable progress. The pressure got so great that in the end, Nik had to sit on the curb, right there in the street, and pull himself together.

Guilty as charged. But I will happily write you a lengthy essay on the meeting I just had if that’s what you want. Say the word.

An essay might be a bit much. Why don’t I just call you?

Nik wasn’t sure what he said in response. Jesus fuck yes, please call me, perhaps. It was all a bit of a blur. And then his phone was ringing, and he was practically cracking the screen in his rush to answer. “Hello?”

The sound of her voice washed over him like an ocean wave, powerful and perfect. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Didn’t we already cover that?” He could hear her smiling. She was smiling. For him. Fuck, his palms were sweating. He was going to tell her so—but wait, no, he didn’t want to pour his feelings all over her and make her feel responsible for them. This whole thing was supposed to be low-pressure, all her, no bullshit from his end.

So, he just laughed and said, “Yeah. Yeah, we did. I just—I want to know you’re good, that’s all.”

“I’m good,” she answered softly. “So, tell me about this mysterious occupation.”

Nik sat on the street and told Aria everything he knew, everything he’d hoped for, and everything he’d soon be a part of. To his everlasting relief, she actually seemed pleased. Impressed, even. She told him about her plans for the shop, the progress she’d made, and seemed happy when he was interested. She asked how his tattoo was healing. She said…

She said, out of nowhere, “God, Nik, I missed your voice.”

At which point, he was almost delirious with happiness. “You did? What does that—? Wait, no, you don’t have to answer that. I just—”

“I haven’t forgiven you.” The words fell on his fledgling hope like bricks. But hope was a tough little fucker. It was still alive under there; he could feel it, bright and strong. Then she sighed and said, “No, that’s not right. I think I have forgiven you. I just, I’m struggling to… well. It’s all part of a very long story.”

“You know you can tell me anything,” he said, because the hollow dip in her voice made him think that this ‘long story’ was something she needed to release. He wanted to be the one who helped her do it. He wanted all her stories, long and short. “Anytime, anywhere. I’m in the U.K., you know.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. Not because of you.” Technically. “I still live here. When I’m not at home, I mean.” God, he was talking too much.

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