Page 68 of Overdue I Love You's
CHAPTER 16
In the past seventy-two hours, I managed to embarrass myself during the first challenge, trip over a bunch of camera wires, get my microphone tangled around a staff member’s arm, and spill wine on Shaan’s lap.
After breakfast the other day, the boys got a message from production, telling them to pick their dates. And when three messages came my way, a member from the crew told me I had to pick Shaan. Apparently, they were asked to pick the girls’ bucket list item, but Shaan decided he didn’t like whatever option came out of my hat and forced production to do one from his list.
Right, yeah. So, this is going well.
We came toSammlung Rosengart, when I found out this was one of the items on Shaan’s bucket list. A lot of art, very cool.
And after passing an old picture of Picasso, I asked the question, “Do you think Jane Austen would hit that if they ever met?” I was met with a blank stare to which I then decided it’s better to keep impulsive questions to myself.
But if you did want me to answerthatspecific question then I sayno, my girl Austen had high standards and well… young Picasso looks like him and Ted Bundy are related.
After the museum, we ended up at a bougie dinner place. Nice tables. Nicer interior. Too many assortments of silverware I don’t understand.
They brought out a wine bottle and while Shaan’s focused with typing on his phone, I decide to be nice and pour the drink.
Only for it to completely back fire.
Now a camera is all up in my face and Shaan looks incredibly pissed.
“This was Armani,” he grits while patting the white shirt with a napkin. When the camera pans to him, his face completely deforms itself into another person. His gritted teeth turn into a soft smile. “It’s okay, don’t stress about it.”
I don’t remember saying sorry.
“Right,” I clear my throat. I’ve barely known the guy for a day. He’s been nice the entire time. If someone spilled wine on my collection of books, I’d feel the same. Maybe this is his equivalent of books, who knows?
Iwasexcited.
Now, I’m quickly realizing the most exciting part so far has been talking to Dean. After our terrible conversation that morning, he left me a sticky note on my door with two simple, yet warm words ofI’m sorry.
Despite having a rough exterior, Dean is a soft guy and if I spend enough time with him, he’ll tell me why he’s here andmaybewe can be friends.
Shaan sneezes without covering his mouth.
Consider me icked the heck out.
We get back to the house near one in the morning. All lights are off. Shaan excuses himself without bearing another glance, our phones ping with the reminder of the cameras turning off in forty minutes.
Right after, a message dings.
Who made your heart flutter today? Send a message that you’d like them to know, your message will remain anonymous.
I don’t think a single thought before pressing send.
There’s no feelings other than gratitude.
Really hoping tomorrow I get the chance to go on a date with Rhys. If he wins a challenge and picks me, not only will his bucket list have more riveting items than museum exhibition, narcissistic conversation about how everyone he’s met says his face calms them down, and an overpriced fancy dinner, but he’s a good enough companion.
There’s conversation happening upstairs. Two or three people. Cans pop open. A plastic bag shuffles. I should go. Be with them, hold a proper conversation without showing too much of my teeth, but I don’t think I want to.
I head out through the back, following the cobblestone pathway into the forest.
Soft lanterns flatter the short cobblestone pathway through the forest. It’s one of the places where they don’t have any cameras.
A blind spot, Irene talked about how sometimes people wanted a second to capture their breath while filming and this was one of the places we could go if we needed it.
Humming under my breath, the soles of my feet gliding against the surprisingly smooth stone, a shiver trickling over my arm. I turn my head when I reach the halfway point of the pathway to a poorly lit opening.
