“One hundred percent,” I say with a laugh, thinking about Niles and his offer of snail tartare. “Let’s keep things simple.”
—
We head back to the hotel to shower and change. Axe has been in a good mood since his call—yeah, definitely not Skip—but it’s not my place to push. If he’s lying, he’s probably got his reasons. And judging by that smug smile he keeps trying to hide, I’m assuming it’s SynthoTech-related.
We take turns getting ready in the bathroom, both of us pretending not to notice the giant king-size bed right there in the middle of the room, taunting us. I’ve put on my navy polka-dot sheath; Strike comes out wearing dark blue jeans, a crisp white shirt, and a baby-blue cashmere sweater so soft it makes me want to rub my face against it.
The not-French, not-fancy restaurant Skip picked for us is called the Sock Hop Stop, a cute retro diner a block away from the Nautical Nook.
We slide into a bright red vinyl booth as “Rock Around the Clock” plays from the jukebox in the corner. The walls are plastered with framed classic posters of fifties icons and shiny records, giving the place a cute authentic vibe.
Our waitress (name tag:Sally) bounces over to us. She’s got on a poodle skirt and saddle shoes, and she looks like she juststepped out of a fifties movie. Shimmy Beach sure loves a costume. “Hey there, doll!” she says, her eyes lighting up as she takes in my outfit. “Your dress is the bee’s knees! You look like you stepped right out of a vintage magazine.”
“Aw, thanks.” I smile.
What Sally doesn’t know as she slides over our laminated menus and starts hyping up the “classics”—milkshakes (“malt’s the best, obvi”) and cheeseburgers—is that Axe and I are basically undercover. We’ve got recording devices strapped under our clothes and little monitor stickers stuck to our chests like we’re walking science experiments. Later, each dumb joke and awkward laugh we share will be fed into some AI program, analyzing every tiny heartbeat blip like it’s cracking the code to our souls.
This is my first time wearing the tech, and I decide my best bet is to pretend it’s not even there. I have no idea how any of it actually works; I’ve chosen blissful ignorance.
The whole point, I know, is for us to believe this date is real. Sounds great in theory, making our reactions seem genuine, but in practice, it feels risky. I have to keep reminding myself this is a job. Like I’m pinching myself to wake up from a dream. These new feelings I have about Axe are as synthetic as this diner’s corny fifties vibe or when someone declares their love onThe Bachelor. Except…there was that kiss.
Even now, the way Axe absently runs a hand through his tousled hair while studying the menu is so distracting that it’s becoming way harder to tell what’s genuine and what’s not. How can anyone look so effortlessly handsome while deciding if he wants cheese fries?
As I sit across from him, every fiber of my being is telling me this is the real thing. Hoo boy. I try to lose myself in the upbeatenergy of the Sock Hop Stop and Sally. I’d bet my paycheck she’s a romantic, dreamy Pisces. The place is buzzing, packed with tourists all in on the corny, rained-out delights of Shimmy Beach. The jukebox is now blasting “Good Vibrations,” and the smell from the grill is a total sensory overload, making it easy to forget that we’re being monitored.
I look up from my menu to see Axe staring at me with a smile that could light up Times Square.
“What?”
“You,” he replies, his eyes twinkling. “You’re glowing. Like you belong right here inside this timeline. I suppose an all-American girl is every Scotsman’s fantasy.”
I laugh, feeling a blush rise to my cheeks, suddenly remembering thoseHighland Heartthrobsbooks I used to binge-read as a kid. It was a series about Scottish avengers and the women who loved them. Tartan kilts, manly thighs, even bagpipes made the cut as sexy. Thanks to those books, I now know that real Scots goregimental—a fancy way of saying they wear nothing underneath those kilts. Safe to say I never looked at tartan the same way again.
“I’m getting the burger and a Coke Zero,” I declare.
“Ah, I thought for certain that you’d fancy a milkshake.”
I repress a shiver.
“Nope. Milkshakes were ruined for me forever when I was a kid. They’d tell me barium tasted like a vanilla shake before X-rays. Lies, all lies. Can’t touch them now,” I say, and I wave my hand like I’m clearing the memory. “So, does Scotland also have theme restaurants?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Axe replies with a wry smile. “I didn’t go to restaurants much as a kid. My upbringing was…unorthodox. I grew up on a small island with an estate that looked like itbelonged on a postcard. On sunny days, it was breathtaking. On rainy days, it felt like a dungeon.”
“Yes, but for this Shelton townie, that sounds like living in a literal fairy tale,” I say. “Like weather doesn’t even matter, except maybe if there’s the occasional dragon lurking around.” I pause, then add, “Honestly, it’s kinda hard to picture you as a kid. I mean, I can’t imagine you as anything but this perfectly polished, in-control CEO daddy.” I cover my mouth. I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud.
“CEO daddy?” Axe repeats, amusement dancing in his eyes as his mouth twitches with a smirk.
“You know what I mean!”
“Well, but growing up, I was a sensitive lad. I wore specs, and once the internet finally made it to our neck of the woods, I got obsessed with computers and coding. That’s how I ended up meeting Strike and eventually joining the CIA. I was desperate to leave home and hopefully do a bit of good in the world.”
“No way. You were a nerd?”
“A proper bookworm!” His laughter is a roar. “Ah, you don’t believe me. But yes, the library was my hideout. I’d camp out there for days, devouring every book I could lay my hands on.” Honor once told me that Strike and Axe have a top secret bro book club, meeting religiously every week, with a patented algorithm to ensure diverse reading. I thought she was pulling my leg, but now I’m not so sure. Good thing they don’t allow outsiders; Honor and I would probably get pregnant watching those two gorgeous CEO daddies discuss literature.
“I wish I had known you then,” I say as Sally reappears to take our orders, rescuing me from my overshare. There are no more embarrassing childhood confessions for the rest of dinner, though Axe does dive into his casual list of epic adventures, whichinvolve hot-air ballooning over the Serengeti and scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef.
“The colors of the coral and the fish are unlike anything you can imagine,” he says, his eyes soft. “It’s a bit like playing inside rainbows.”
