Page 8 of Fake Dating the Next-Door
Garrett nods, moving back to give me space. "Need help with anything else?"
"You could grab the salad from the fridge?" I suggest, grateful for something to do with my hands. I reach for plates, watching him moving around my kitchen.
As we settle in to eat, I can't help but think how strangely comfortable this feels—having Garrett in my space, sharing a meal I made. Almost like we've done this before, like it's a regular occurrence rather than an elaborate practice for a deception.
"This is good," he says after taking his first bite of lasagna. "Really good."
Pride blooms in my chest at the genuine approval in his voice. "Thanks. I stress-bake, but I stress-cook too, sometimes."
"You must be stressed a lot," he observes. "You're always bringing me baked goods."
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "Well, freelancing isn't exactly stable. Feast or famine, you know? Either I have so many projects I'm pulling all-nighters, or I'm panicking about paying rent."
"Is that why you were up until 4 AM the other night?" he asks, surprising me again with how much he notices.
"Yeah, rush job for a client in California. Double my usual rate for the turnaround time. Sorry if my lights bothered you."
"They didn't," he says quickly. Then, more quietly: "I was already awake."
The nightmares, I realize. He was already up because of the nightmares.
"Well," I say, trying to lighten the mood, "maybe next time we can both be insomniacs together. I make great midnight nachos."
"I'll keep that in mind."
We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I find myself noticing a few things about him when he's not looking. The way his broad hands handle his silverware with delicacy. The slight furrow between his brows that never fully disappears, even when he's relaxed. The way his shoulders remain slightly tensed, as if he's always ready to react to a threat.
What must it be like to live in his head? To carry whatever memories keep him up at night?
"So," I say as we finish eating, "should we practice any... couple stuff? For tomorrow?" My voice sounds strange even to my own ears, too high and breathless.
Garrett sets down his fork. "What kind of 'couple stuff'?"
"I don't know." I fiddle with my napkin. "Terms of endearment? Physical contact? We should probably seem comfortable with each other if we've been dating for three months."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Maybe just... basic stuff? Hand holding? A casual arm around the shoulders?" I'm mortified to feel myself blushing. "Nothing weird, obviously."
He reaches across the table, his hand open, palm up. "Give me your hand."
Chapter 4 - Garret
"Give me your hand."
The words come out more commanding than I intended, and for a second I think I've crossed a line. But Sunny doesn't hesitate. She places her small hand in mine, her eyes wide and curious.
Her skin is soft against my rugged palm. Warm. I can feel her pulse jumping at her wrist, quick as a hummingbird's wings. Or maybe that's my own heart hammering away.
"If we've been dating three months," I say, keeping my voice steady, "we'd be comfortable with casual contact." I run my thumb across her knuckles, a gesture that feels both innocent and intimate at the same time. "Like this."
Sunny nods, her cheeks flushed pink. "Right. Casual."
There's nothing casual about the way my body is responding to this simple touch. I've spent months keeping my distance, and now that I've allowed myself to breach that private space, it feels like stepping too close to a fire. Dangerous. Irresistible.
"What else?" she asks, her voice quieter now.
I should stop this. Draw a line. Remember that this is just preparation for a deception, not something real.
