Page 5 of Fake Dating the Next-Door
"So, what's our couple dynamic?" she asks, mercifully changing the subject. "I'm thinking you're the strong, silent type—that's not a stretch—and I gradually wore down your defenses with my irresistible charm?"
The accuracy of her assessment is unsettling. "Something like that."
She claps her hands together. "This is actually going to work! My parents will be so shocked that I'm dating my older, responsible neighbor that they'll forget to lecture me about my career choices."
"Glad I can be of service," I say dryly, but I'm finding it hard to maintain my usual gruffness with her looking so damn happy.
"Dinner's at six tomorrow," she says, hopping down from the counter. "Wear something nice but not too nice. Like you're trying to impress them but don't want to look like you're trying."
"I know how to dress for dinner, Sunny."
"Of course you do." She smiles up at me, and suddenly the kitchen feels too small, "Thank you for doing this, Garrett. Really."
I should leave now. Say goodbye, walk out, and spend the next twenty-four hours remembering all the reasons this is a terrible idea. Instead, I find myself asking, "Need help with anything else? For tomorrow?"
Her surprise is evident, but she recovers quickly. "Actually, yes. I'm making lasagna, and I always mess up the layering. Would you mind being my taste-tester tonight when I do a practice run?"
"You're making a practice dinner?" This woman continues to baffle me.
"Of course! I can't risk messing up the actual dinner. Too much pressure." She says this like it's the most logical thing in the world. "Say yes, and I'll throw in a beer and promise not to ask too many personal questions."
I should say no. Go home. Maintain the distance I've cultivated.
"What time?" I hear myself ask instead.
"Seven? I need to get some work done first."
"I'll bring the beer," I say, already moving toward the door before I do something stupid like touch her again.
"It's a date!" she calls after me, then immediately backtracks. "I mean, not a date-date. A practice date. For our fake date. Tomorrow. Which is also not a real date."
I turn back to find her blushing, and something inside me—something I thought long dead—stirs to life.
"Seven," I confirm, and head back to my place before she can see what must be written all over my face.
I have no idea what the hell I'm doing, agreeing to this charade. Sunny deserves someone whole, someone who knows how to let people in. Not a broken ex-soldier with more baggage than the cargo hold of a C-17.
But for just a moment, one moment of weakness, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this were real. If I were actually the man lucky enough to be with Sunny Bloom.
It's a dangerous thought. One I'll need to bury deep before tomorrow.
Because the only thing worse than pretending to be with her would be letting her see just how much I wish it were true.
Chapter 3 - Sunny
I am losing it. Completely, totally losing it.
The lasagna is in the oven, the salad is mixed, and I've changed outfits four times in the past hour. For a fake practice dinner for my fake boyfriend. What is wrong with me?
"It's just Garrett," I tell my reflection as I dab at the sweat forming along my hairline. "Grumpy, scowling Garrett who's doing you a favor."
Grumpy, scowling, unfairly attractive Garrett who somehow looks at me like he can see straight through to all my insecurities.
I tug at the hem of the sundress I finally settled on—a blue floral number that my mother once said brings out the warmth in my eyes. Is it too much for a practice dinner? Probably. But after spending all afternoon hunched over my laptop finishing a rush project, I wanted to feel pretty.
The timer on my phone shows ten minutes until seven. Ten minutes until Garrett arrives, and my palms are already sweating like I'm waiting for an actual date.
"This is ridiculous," I mutter, pacing my small living room. "We're neighbors. We're planning a fake relationship. That's it."
