Page 8 of Pretend to be Mine
Ben
Iwalk home with a smile, surprised and pleased with how dinner turned out. Savannah is great. She’s sweet, funny, we have a lot of the same interests, and it doesn’t hurt that she’s beautiful. The best part of the evening was watching the pink in her cheeks fade away only to come back brighter. It would be easy to see myself falling for her. Her laugh is contagious, her blinding smile is like looking directly at the sun, and her sparkling eyes remind me of frosted grass the first morning of winter. Even though I know that a relationship can never form between us, it’s great how well we get along. If nothing else, I’ll have one hell of a friend.
I make it home and decide to call it a night. I lock up and turn the lights out before heading to my bedroom to strip down and sink into bed. Pulling the blanket up around me and closing my eyes, I find her face beneath my eyelids. Something in my gut comes alive and tells me that I should’ve kissed her goodnight. I even entertain the thought by picturing it. I imagine the warmth on her lips, the sweetness of her tongue, and the way my blood begins to boil with need. Then guilt eats at me as I push the thought away. It’s been seven years since my fiancée passed, and I still haven’t been on a date, let alone kissed someone.
No, Savannah will just be a good friend and neighbor. Already I can see her coming over for BBQs, baseball games, Super Bowl Sunday, and any other thing that comes up. I’m relieved that she’s in the same boat as me—that means nothing will get in the way of our friendship. I fall asleep easily after having such a good day.
* * *
Icome home from work to find a basket on my porch. I laugh to myself as I pick it up and study its contents. There’s a bottle of wine, containers of cookies, cakes, pies, and sure enough, brownies with a little warning tag on them. I carry the basket over to Savannah’s and knock on the door.
When she opens, I hold it up. “Want to come over, get hammered, and eat your weight in baked goods?”
She laughs but steps outside. “The brownies in there?”
“Oh yeah,” I reply, holding up the basket for her to see. “With a little warning label and everything.”
She laughs as we continue over to my place.
I unlock the door and show her inside. I place the basked on the table and take the bottle of wine to the kitchen to pop the cork. Of course, the kitchen is still mostly packed up, so I have no choice but to start going through boxes to find the wine glasses.
“What’s all that noise?” Savannah asks as she walks into the kitchen.
“I’m trying to find some glasses.”
She opens a box and starts digging with me.
After I’ve ripped open every box, I turn to find her not searching with me, but unpacking for me. “What are you doing?”
Savannah shrugs. “Hope you don’t mind me setting up your kitchen, but I’m practically a chef. I know where everything goes.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say with a smile.
“You’re a busy doctor. Unless you want to live out of these boxes for the next year, shut up and take the help.”
I smile. “Alright, alright.” The two of us get to work. Eventually we find some glasses and I’m able to pour us both a glass of wine to drink while we work.
“So, where are these baked goods you promised?” she asks with a smile from over her shoulder.
I grab the basket from the living room and place it on the center of the table. “Voilà!”
Savannah grins as she walks over and pokes around, looking for a snack. She pulls out a whole pie, removes the lid, then places it on the table before grabbing two forks. She hands one over as she walks past me. The two of us sit at the table and dig our forks in, no plates needed.
“Wow, this is amazing!”
She smiles and nods. “Yeah, Mrs. Michaelson bakes world-famous apple pie. And for the low, low price of $49.99, she’ll bake you one. So enjoy!” Her smile stretches further across her face.
My eyes rose in surprise. “She charges fifty dollars to bake a pie?”
She nods as she sticks a forkful in her mouth. “Mm-hmm. But so worth it, right?”
I laugh as I take another bite. “Maybe we could go in on a pie together. You pay half, I’ll pay half?”
“Deal!” she jumps on it.
We both laugh and eat our pie before going back to unpacking. “I wasn’t offering to liquor you up and feed you junk just to get you to unpack my kitchen, you know.”
She giggles. “I know, but I remember doing all this myself, and it sucked. Plus, it doesn't really feel like a chore when you have someone to talk to and have fun with.”
