Page 38 of Love Out Loud

She grinned. “Even better. A favor, a bet, a dare, whatever. Tell it from that angle, and you have a story. You can also do it without revealing anything about her identity, since it’s an everyday person giving an everyday acceptance speech.”

Everyday person. Nothing about Fiona was everyday.

“I’m not sure she’d like it,” he said.

“She’d most likely be flattered. She’s a vet, right? She’s had a lot of education. She of all people would understand the mechanics and necessity for publishing credits and research. It’s not like you’re going to say anything bad about her or reveal a secret. It will make her look good, even brave, that she’s working with you to overcome obstacles. Besides, she’d never know. Doubtful she reads psychology magazines.”

Charise was most likely right. Fiona would totally understand. In fact, if he weren’t so into Fiona, he wouldn’t give a second thought to using her as a topic for the article. It had nothing to do with their personal relationship—which wasn’t really even a thing, was it? It’s not like they were sleeping together. He let out a slow breath. It only involved their professional relationship, so it wasn’t an issue.

“When is it due?” she asked.

“Too soon. I need to get a first draft out in a day or so.”

She waved a hand in the air. “Well, there you go. Problem solved.”

Charise picked an apple out of the bowl in the center of the table. The crunch when she took a bite seemed unnaturally loud. As he watched her chew, he realized for the first time what a good thing it was she had dumped him. They were nothing alike. Nothing at all. She was a hell of a speech coach, though, and her angle on his article was spot-on. His job, like that of Henry Higgins, was to work with shy Fiona Nichol until he could pass her off in public as a skilled speaker—at least for three minutes. And Charise was right. He could write the article in such a way that nobody would know who his Eliza was, even Fiona. No harm, no foul.

With a resigned sigh, he woke his computer up.

“See ya later, Professor Higgins,” Charise called as she left the room.

…

Fiona checked her look in the glass doors of Chez Ari and grimaced at her reflection; not because she looked bad—she looked pretty good, if she said so herself—the grimace was for how out of character checking her look was.Not a date, she told herself for the billionth time.

“Are you Dr. Nichol?” a host at the front desk asked.

“I am.”

“Your party is already here. Follow me, please,” he said.

Jake had left the name Dr. Nichol rather than Fiona. Her mind went straight to motive mode. Was Fiona too personal? Too casual? Was Dr. Nichol to let her know it was business, or was it a kind of flattery or respect?

Give it a rest, she scolded herself.Not a date.

She followed the host into a small outdoor cobblestone courtyard, and Jake stood until she was seated. She had met his eyes briefly when she’d entered but didn’t maintain eye contact. She wasn’t insecure, just uncomfortable. There was a huge difference.

“You look fantastic,” he said.

So did he, but then, he always did.

“The wonders of modern plumbing and cosmetics.”

He smiled, still staring. He probably wasn’t as interested in her as all that but instead was trying to get her to make eye contact. She briefly did so that he’d quit staring holes into her.

“I memorized the speech and ran through it a half dozen times or so,” she said.

“And?”

She ran her finger along the leather spine of her menu. “And I’m glad I don’t give speeches for a living. I’d starve.”

He laughed, and she relaxed a bit.

“Speaking of starving…” He opened his menu, and she did the same, studying it in silence.

She really loved how he didn’t feel compelled to fill every second with chitchat. Most people would start remarking on menu items, or the decor, or the weather. Anything to fill the silence. Instead, she took a sip of the wine he’d had waiting for her, a rich merlot, and enjoyed analyzing the menu instead of formulating potential responses to inane chatter.

After placing their orders, he seemed comfortable enjoying his wine and the sound of classical music playing from hidden speakers at the back of the courtyard. There was only one other occupied table out here, and it was a young couple, clearly on a date—giving each other charged looks and gentle touches across their table.

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