Page 70 of Faking the Face Off

“Not if you plan it for the other person andnotfor yourself,” Mia says knowingly as she walks back to the counter.

“What do you mean?” I ask as I trail behind her, leaning on the other side of the counter and hanging on her every word.

“Well, we need to think about Anna and who she is. What would impress her, or how you can show her you care. That you’re in it for more than a fake thing between the two of you.”

I nod. “Makes sense.”

“Of course it does,” she says, waving me off. “And now is the time to plan something really special since she’s not around.”

There’s a part of this that scares me, though. “What if she decides she doesn’t want to come back around?”

“Oh, Ollie.” Mia’s voice is full of exasperation. “Look, all she asked for was space. She didn’t break up with you over seeing us at lunch. She told you that. So stop worrying. Go on her word, that’s what you have, and start planning something really sweet, amazing, and so wonderful that when you surprise her with it, she’ll know for certain that you two are it.”

Mia’s got a point. I have spent a lot of time overthinking things this past week, but I can’t help it. Figuring out you’re for sure in love with someone makes you act crazy. I should know, and if there was such a thing as love rehab, I’d check myself in.

“Okay,” I say to Mia as my phone beeps in my pocket. “How do we do this?”

“Yes!” she exclaims, grabbing a piece of paper and pen. “We’ll start with a list. I’ll ask you questions about her, and then we’ll figure out, based on her personality, which gesture is best. Do you have time now?”

“You bet,” I say with a chuckle as I pull my phone out. When I see who it is that’s texted, the world around me stops in place. I turn the phone around to show Mia the screen. “Look. Look who texted.”

She reads the screen, sees the text is from Anna, then looks at me knowingly. “Well, that’s got aField of Dreamsvibe to it. Speak her name and she will text?”

The text is simple, brief. Perfectly Anna.

Hey you. Let me know when you have time, I’d like to talk.

I fight the urge to tap outI miss you. Instead, I do what other men before me have done over the years. A time-honored tradition really, a show of masculinity and confidence. I’m gonna ask my sister for help.

I look at Mia. “What do I say?”

She shakes her head. “Men. You’re going to tell her when you can see her.” She thinks about her response before snapping her fingers and waving her hands in the air. “Wait, no! Actually, this is it. Now is the time.”

“For what?” Sisters. They mean well. But my anxiety is on the Richter scale at this point.

“The time to set her up for the grand gesture.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Don’t text her back yet. First, we plan, then you lay the breadcrumbs.”

And now is the time that I take part in yet another time-honored tradition that could either make things better or make ‘em worse. Mia spends a few minutes hunched over a piece of paper, making notes. When she finally lifts her head, she treats me to her signature mischievous grin.

“Ready for some ideas?”

“Go for it.”

“Option one: you write her a heartfelt letter and hide it in her favorite book. She’ll find it when she’s not expecting it, and bam—instant emotional impact.”

I hesitate. “That’s…not bad.”

“Hold that thought,” she says, cutting me off with a raised finger as she points to the next item on her list. “Option two: you recreate one of her favorite memories. Maybe you take her to that bakery you said she loves or set up that stupidly specific breakfast-for-dinner thing or something like that, something she’s always talking about. Nostalgia works wonders.”

I tilt my head. “I don’t hate that one, but she only likes Shelly’s and she’s not a breakfast-for-dinner kind of gal. She likes her eggs in the morning.”

“Good to know, because option three is a masterpiece.” She flashes me an exaggerated wink. “You stand outside her door in the rain—if there’s no rain, a garden hose will do—holding an umbrella and apologizing like your life depends on it. Extra points if you quote poetry or something.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That’s basically a boombox moment without the music.”

---