Page 33 of Fumbled Into Love

“Even Orlando Bloom?” I need verbal verification before I faint because if I find out he touched the poster in front of me, fainting is a high possibility.

“Mhm. Even Legolas himself.”

“Yeah, I’m going to faint.”

Large hands bracket my shoulders, spinning me around. Deon’s frantic eyes search my face. “Do you need water? Gummy bears?”

“What?”

“You said you were going to faint. Is your blood sugar low?” His brows furrow, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I might fixate on that thought, but Orlando Bloom touched that poster, which is far more important than Deon's adorable eyebrow crinkle.

“I’m fine.” A few steps, and I’m inches away from the poster. “He touched this…”

The room begins to spin.

“Nathalie?” The concern in Deon’s question breaks my stupor, and I shift to look at him. His eyes flick around the room, cataloging all the items. I’ve never seen such open vulnerability, as though he is waiting for me to belittle what brings him joy.

“Are you a nerd, Deon Adams?” I banish the small smile tugging at my lips, wanting to hide how much I like the image of Deon Adams cosplaying as Aragorn. He nods, the action nearly imperceptible. I run across the hall into my temporary room and dig through my bags to find the blanket Maren gifted to me for my birthday. I hold it behind my back when I return. “I have a secret to tell you,” I admit.

His eyes narrow. “Okay?”

“I’m a nerd, too.”

I reveal my blanket, holding it outstretched so Deon can view its glory. Different versions of Orlando Bloom as Legolas throughout the movies cover the blanket. Maren had it custom-made online, and it's one of my prized possessions.

Deon slumps forward, hands on his knees. His body shakes as he chokes down air. When he lifts his head, his eyes are shining with unshed tears.

“It’s beautiful,” he coughs out.

I drape it over the back of the couch.

“It’s one of the many things in my collection. Now, it can add temporary spice to the best room in your house.”

I give one of the Legolas on the blanket a fat smooch, and Deon shakes his head. He grins, dimples popping.

“Thank you,” he says, almost too quietly to hear.

“What for?”

I should be thanking him for letting me stay here and for allowing me into his space when I know he values his privacy. I should have thought about how it would have impacted him when I asked to stay with Declan.

I’m still new to this whole fake girlfriend thing, but in retrospect, it makes sense to stay with the man I’ve claimed to be my boyfriend.

“For not judging me.” I open my mouth to say I wouldneverjudge him when he stuns me into silence. “Savannah hated all of this. She thought it was stupid and a waste of my money.”

Air lodges in my throat, but I school my features into neutrality. Any display of emotion, positive or negative, might slam shut the emotional door he just cracked open.

I take a tentative step toward Deon.

“Nothing—nothing—you love or find joy in is a waste of time or money, Deon. Anyone who has made you feel that way is undeserving of you.”

Deon bites his lip, fighting to believe my words. Whoever Savannah is, she did a number on him, and because of that, I hate her, feminism be damned.

“I—I think you may be right.” The tiniest hint of a smile graces his lips, allowing for his dimples to peek out, and the sight of it is victorious.

“Are you planning to use the TV?”

Deon is sprawled on the couch, a tablet inches away from his face. The faint sound of cheering fills the room, and I wander around the kitchen, searching for a wine glass and a massive bowl.

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