Page 11 of Holiday Hoax

“Hey now.” He smiles softly at me. “Go easy on me. What’s good around here?”

“The Greek place down the street is great. The Thai place is pretty good. I also love the sub shop.”

“Another thing about me, a rather important one, is that I’m severely allergic to coconut, so I avoid Thai and Indian food.”

“That’s scary.” I start cataloging all my food that might have coconut used as an ingredient, so I remember to toss it just in case. “Do you carry an epi pen?”

“Always.” He reaches in his jacket pocket and pulls one out. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

“I do. One of my nieces has a peanut allergy, so my sister made us all learn how to use them. Your life is safe in my hands.”

“Good to know.” He winks.

He. Winks.

It’s not a gross, smarmy wink either. It’s the kind of wink that sends butterflies racing through my body. This is not good. Luckily my stomach comes to the rescue with another embarrassingly loud rumble.

“Here, dinner’s on me.” He hands over his phone. “Order what you want and input the delivery details.”

“Thank you,” I tell him once I’ve ordered the food and hand him back his phone. I settle back into the corner of the sofa and look over at him. “Aside from the coconut allergy, what do I need to know about you?”

“I’m thirty-eight, I got my undergraduate degree and MBA from Yale. My hobbies include reading sci-fi novels and running.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a science fiction reader.”

“Really? What would you have expected me to read?”

“Business journals. Historical biographies.”

“Yes to the business journals but no to the biographies. I hated history.”

“My degree is in art history,” I reply with a laugh.

“Did you always want to work in a gallery?”

“Yeah. For as long as I can remember, I knew the art world was where I was meant to be.”

“Do you draw or paint or anything?”

“I do, although I’m not good at it.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” I smile at him.

“I seem to recall a very intelligent woman once telling me that art belongs to those who perceive it, which would presumably carry over to determining whether it is good or not.”

Oh, he’s good. Too good.

“She sounds brilliant.”

Our banter lapses into silence as we smile at each other. If one of us doesn’t speak soon, I’m going to start blushing again. Which is ridiculous because we’re not actually dating, we’re fake dating.

“Any other hobbies?” he asks.

“I do a bit of volunteering with Nico when he’s in town. I love the museums here, so I’ll go check out new exhibits as they pop up. I paddle board in the summer.”

He checks his phone as it vibrates on the coffee table. “The food is here.”

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