Page 15 of Fake Dating the Next-Door
"And now you make beautiful things instead of..." Mrs. Bloom trails off delicately.
"Instead of destroying them?" I finish for her. "Yes. I find it balances the scales a bit."
Something shifts in Mrs. Bloom's expression—a softening, a reassessment. "I can understand that."
Sunny rises suddenly. "Coffee, anyone? I have decaf and regular."
"Decaf for me, dear," her mother says. "Your father and I should probably get back to our hotel soon. It's been a long day of driving."
"I'll help," I offer, following Sunny to the kitchen.
Once we're alone, she turns to me, "Thank you," she whispers. "For what you said earlier. About my work."
"I meant it," I say simply, because it's true. I've watched her work herself to exhaustion too many times to count, seen the pride she takes in each finished project.
She steps closer, resting her hand lightly on my chest. For a moment, I think she might hug me again, but instead she just looks up at me, those brown eyes wide and serious.
"I know you did," she says softly. "That's what makes it mean something."
The sincerity in her voice catches me off guard. This is no longer just a performance for her parents' benefit. We're standing in her kitchen, out of sight, and yet the connection between us feels more real than anything I've experienced in years.
I should step back. Remind us both of the boundaries, of the temporary nature of this arrangement.
Instead, my hand moves of its own accord to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "You don't need me or anyone else to validate your success, Sunny."
Her breath catches, and for one dangerous moment, I consider lowering my head to hers, tasting the smile that's slowly spreading across her face.
The coffee maker beeps, shattering the moment.
Sunny jumps back slightly, turning to grab mugs from the cabinet. "Right! Coffee. That's what we came in here for."
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. "I'll get the cream and sugar."
We work together, moving around each other in the small kitchen with surprising ease. It feels practiced, regular, like we've done this a hundred times before.
"So," she says as she arranges cookies on a plate, keeping her voice low. "How do you think it's going?"
"Your father likes me. Your mother is reserving judgment but leaning positive."
She looks up, surprised. "Really? That's your assessment?"
I nod. "Your father started showing me pictures of his restored Mustang. That's practically a marriage proposal in dad terms."
Sunny's laugh is bright and sudden. "You're not wrong. And my mom?"
"She's protective of you," I say. "As she should be. But I think she's decided I'm not an immediate threat to your happiness."
"High praise indeed." Sunny balances the cookie plate on top of her mug. "Ready to head back in there?"
"After you."
As we rejoin her parents in the dining room, I can't help but notice how Mr. Bloom's eyes track our movements, assessing our comfort with each other. I place my hand at the small of Sunny's back as she sets down the cookies, and her father nods slightly to himself, apparently satisfied by what he sees.
"These look wonderful, Sunshine," Mrs. Bloom says, selecting a cookie. "You always did have a talent for baking. Remember when you wanted to open that cupcake shop?"
"That was in high school, Mom," Sunny says with a slight edge to her voice.
"Still, you made the most beautiful designs. Your attention to detail would have made you an excellent accountant, you know."
