Page 12 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
“It’s all right, Laurie. I know there’s nothing you can do even if you wanted to. I understand. I’m just whining.”
“I’ll make it up to you somehow. We’ll go out to the lake house and spend some time fishing or something. Just you and me.”
“Sounds great.” I couldn’t stand fishing, but he wouldn’t really make me do it. Besides, neither of our schedules would allow time off. “You tried, and I love you for it. I’ve got to go. Someone’s waiting for me.”
“Okay, bye. See you.”
“Soon. It’s a plan.” I disconnected the call and just stood there, staring at the barest sliver of moon in the sky. We had something in common, the moon and me. I’d planned to bask in the sunlight of Laurie’s glory at Luis’s wedding, and even though I was sort of a reduced, barely there bit of myself, I could have reflected his light. But now, without Laurie…I was an eclipse.
“Are you okay?” I turned and found Epic staring at me. “Bad news?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” I took a deep breath. The cigarette I’d been holding was nothing but ash. I stubbed it out on the wall.
“Look, it’s none of my business—”
“Since when has that stopped you?” Even as I spoke the words, they felt cruel.
“Sorry.” His mouth snapped shut.
“No. I’m the one who ought to apologize. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sorry. My plans changed, and I’m disappointed.”
“Somebody cancel a date?” Why was he so fucking curious?
“Sort of,” I admitted. “Now I have to decide whether I’m going to go ahead with my plans alone or slink home with a white flag flying.”
“Oh.” He sat on the retaining wall. I flopped onto it. It’s worth noting that it hurt, since I had very little padding at that point.
With the sea behind him and the wind blowing his thick, dark hair, Epic looked like a young Kennedy. His bone structure was fine and strong, and his pale blue eyes glimmered brightly. He wore a soft blue V-neck sweater over a white T-shirt and skinny jeans.
I was flattered by his attention without a doubt. But wary.
“Is Epic really your name? Or—”
“That’s what most people call me.”
“You were Bob when I first met you.”
“Because you came to Bistro on a ‘Bob’ day.” He leaned back and kicked his legs. He wore red Vans without socks. Even his feet looked confident. If I’d had his kind of poise at his age? Well, I only wished I had it now.
“Why do you wear name tags that aren’t yours?”
He looked sheepish. “I lost my name tag, like…three times in the first week. Now my boss won’t make me a new one, so I just take one out of the box he keeps after waitstaff leaves. It started out of necessity, but now it’s kind of my trademark.”
“You realize having a trademark that changes every day defeats the purpose?”
“For some people. But I assure you it works for me. Everyone knows me. Uncle Brian says the food competes with me to bring people in.”
“Your uncle owns Bistro?”
He nodded. “We’re not really related. He’s an old friend of my dad’s. I’ve always called him uncle.” He straightened as if something important had just occurred to him. “Brian and my dad used to surf competitively. That’s where they met, but if you knew my dad now you wouldn’t believe it. Dad teacheseconomics.”
His expression said what he thought of that fact.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s so boring.”
“I don’t know—”
