Page 81 of The Valentine's Bet

I kick my shoes off, leaving them by the door, and then hang up my coat on the rack. Ever since I spoke with Weston about Amy ... I feeloff.Ever since I admitted out loud that Imighthave a crush on Amy, the world feels like it’s shifted or something.

Doing my best to push the thoughts away, I focus on dinner. I pull out fettuccine—because I know she likes that—and then google how to make Alfredo sauce. It takes some digging, but I just so happen to have all the needed ingredients.

Perfect.

I watch the clock, knowing that she’ll be home from work any minute, and move as efficiently as I can. Nerves rattle my chest as I wipe the sweat from my brow.

Why am I so worked up?

I’m just making herdinner.

No, I’m makingmydinner.

She’s just going to eat some of it ... hopefully. That’s it. That’s all this is. Which becomes harder to convince myself of as I set the dining room table—one I never use—for us. I’ve just laid out the final plate along with some garlic bread when the apartment chimes and in walks Amy.

“Whoa!” She gives me a strange look. “Are you having a dinner party or something? It smellsamazingin here.”

“Um...” My voice trails off as I take in the sight of her in her tight black dress pants and cream-colored sweater. Her dark hair is a little disheveled from the wind, but it suits her. Likereallysuits her.

Her brow furrows as she sets her bag down on the entryway table. “Am I not invited or something? You can just tell me. I won’t be offended. I get that I’m kind of invading your personal space and all that.”

I shake my head, a forced laugh slipping out. “No, it’s not that at all. I, uh, I was just making dinner for myself—and I thought you might be hungry, so I set a place for you, too. I know this is the time that you usually make it back...” I feel like I’m rambling, but if I am, Amy pays it no mind.

She smiles. “Aw, thanks.” Her eyes light up as she heads to the sink, rolling her sweater up and turning on the water. “I’mstarving,so this is perfect.”

“Cool.” I run my fingers through my hair, inwardly cringing at the mess I made while cooking. “You wanna eat now? I just finished cooking, soit’s still warm.”

“Talk about perfect timing.” She dries her hands on the towel and follows me into the dining room. Her footsteps stop behind me and I turn around to see her gaping at me.

“What?”

“I had no idea you had such nice china.”

“Uh, they were an Amazon special, but yeah, okay. Thanks.” I laugh, pulling out her chair for her.

She eyes me as she sits down. “Is this another mock date or something? I don’t think I’ve ever had a man pull out a chair for me in my life.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah ... well, they should. It’s just habit, I guess.”

Amy pauses, her expression shifting like she’s about to challenge that idea, but she relents. “So, how was work today?”

Sitting down across from her, I reach for my water. “It was fine. The usual. Weston and I went out to lunch today.”

She nods. “Is he doing well?”

“I suppose so.” I chuckle. “He thought the fact that you’re living here was pretty funny.”

Her head tilts as she twirls her fork in her pasta. “Why’s that? Am I a burden or something?” The worry on her face makes my heart sink.

“Oh no,” I say quickly. “I wouldn’t have invited you to stay if I thought you’d be a burden.”

“Right.” She frowns. “Because I feel like you might’ve just done it out of sympathy—just like when you walked me home that night after the singles event.”

I carefully consider my response, because I still don’t really knowthe answer as to why I ever walked her home that first time. It’s best to avoid the topic altogether. “If I was just being sympathetic, I would’ve bought you a hotel room.”

“Touche.” She giggles, taking a bite. “This isamazing. It tastes like my mom’s homemade sauce.”

I laugh. “Well, if your mom uses Google to find her recipes, it might be the same one.”

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