Page 48 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

Okay, I type like I’m totally nonchalant about the whole thing. Yep, that’s me. Completely chill and never awkward or uptight or anything. Yeah.What did you have in mind?

Your meeting is a week from tomorrow,comes Laurent’s reply,so how about we have dinner the night before?

That works for me, I reply after a minute as if I had to check my calendar to confirm that my social schedule is pretty much free and clear for eternity.Where and when?

I’ll be in touch. ;)comes his last text.

I stare at the words, trying to figure out what the hell he means. Is Laurent seriously setting up a date for us? Like, a real one?

I mean.

I know.

Iknow.

It’s not real.

Right. Check. Gotcha.

But while I’m not exactly a relationship expert, I am a self-made dating and compatibility expert.

And his text? It smacks of real-life dating magic, for lack of a better term. Like he’s trying to impress me or surprise me or something.

But he can’t be, I remind myself. Because guys like him don’t go for girls like me.

Tossing my phone to one side, I pull the covers over my head and try to ignore the fact that my heart is thumping with longing at the idea of an exquisite man like Laurent trying to woo a plain, boring, weirdo like me.

Laurent

Iknew it was a long shot, asking Shira to go on a practice date with me to prep for the meeting she needs me for.

But it was a shot I had to take.

I pump my fist in the air when she accepts my proposition.

What Shira doesn’t know is that this date? It’s going to be anything but practice for me.

After I met her at the club last night, I couldn’t get her out of my head. The ghost of her memory chilled in the passenger seat of my car on the drive back to wine country, perched on the bathroom counter as I brushed my teeth, and snuggled up close when I got into bed.

She only wants me for one night, for a practical purpose. I get that.

But I also can’t get past how protective I feel of this woman even though we just met, and how I long to run my hands over her creamy skin, learning by heart the feel of every inch of her succulent body.

So even though I said our Thursday rendezvous is just for practice, in my mind, it’s my chance to show her that I’m more than a pretty face and worth keeping around.

My phone buzzes again. I eagerly swipe to my messages app, thinking it’s Shira again.

My stomach sinks. Because instead of another adorable message from my fake girlfriend, it’s a text from my dad.Your mom fell again. I need your help.

Swearing, I leap out of bed and pull on yesterday’s jeans and a t-shirt. I shove my bare feet into some shoes and rush out the door of the apartment above my parent’s garage.

The apartment was supposed to be an unpaid benefit for a vineyard manager. But when Mom got sick and she and Dad stopped being able to do so much of the vineyard’s backend work themselves, profits dropped and they had to let a lot of employees go.

Now it’s just a skeleton crew with no manager; my dad took over those duties. So the apartment is mine. For now.

My heart’s pummeling against the insides of my ribs as I hurry through California’s autumn sunshine to the main house.

Slamming the back door open, I pause in the white-tiled mudroom and call out, “I’m here! Where are you?” My ears strain to hear a reply over the blood pounding in my eardrums.

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