“Where did you learn to cook like this?” Another forkful disappears into my mouth before he can answer.
“YouTube.” He looks pleased with himself, watching me.
We fall into silence as we eat, but it’s not the strained silence that usually sits between us. This one is charged. I keep stealing glances at him—the careful way he twirls his pasta, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows his grape juice, the candle glow catching in his green eyes.
“So,” I break the silence, desperate to dispel the strange atmosphere, “you did all this for…practice?”
“Yeah.” His fingers tap against the stem of his glass. “I wanted to see if I could pull off the whole romantic dinner thing.”
“Planning to do this for Serena on Saturday?”
Emmett nods. “That’s the idea. Though probably with different food. I’m not sure what she likes.”
A strange sensation twists in my gut—something sharp and unpleasant. “But you made my favorite food.”
His eyes flick up to mine, then away. “Like I said, practice. I figured if I could impress you, Serena would be easy.”
The twisting feeling intensifies. The idea of Emmett recreating this scene—these candles, this attention to detail, this intimate atmosphere—for Serena makes my appetite fade. I set my fork down, confused by my own reaction.
“There’s dessert too,” he says, gathering our plates once we’ve finished. “Red velvet. Also…your favorite, right?”
I nod, watching him disappear into the kitchen. My mind races, trying to make sense of the jealousy—because that’s what it is, I realize with a jolt—curling through me. Why should I care if Emmett woos Serena? Isn’t that the point of our arrangement?
He returns with two slices of cake, the rich red interior a contrast to the creamy white frosting. It looks homemade, not the store-bought kind I’m used to.
“How long did all this take you?” I ask, gesturing to the food, the candles, the whole setup.
“Most of the day,” he admits. “I skipped my afternoon class.”
Emmett Grayson, Mr. Perfect Student, skipped a class to prepare this dinner. For practice. For me. The realization makes me dizzy, or maybe that’s the wine.
“I thought we could watch a movie after,” he continues, taking a bite of cake. “To complete the date experience.”
“What movie?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears.
His lips curve into a small smile. “Lord of the Rings. The Fellowship of the Ring. Extended edition, of course.”
My favorite movie. Again. I stare at him, unable to hide my shock. “You hate that movie. You said it was boring and too long.”
“It is,” he agrees. “But you love it. And this is about creating the perfect date, right? Doing things the other person enjoys.”
Something shifts in the air between us. The pretense feels thinner somehow, more transparent. This isn’t just about teaching Emmett how to woo Serena anymore. It’s something else, something neither of us is acknowledging.
After dessert, we move to the couch. The TV flickers to life, the familiar opening narration of the movie filling the room. Emmett sits beside me, closer than necessary. Our thighs press together, a line of warmth that I’m hyper-aware of.
“So, how am I doing so far?” He turns to me, his face mere inches from mine. “As a date, I mean.”
I swallow hard. “Good. Really good, actually.”
“Anything I should do differently with Serena?”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “No. She’d be…impressed.”
Emmett nods, satisfied with my assessment. He turns back to the movie, but I notice he doesn’t put any distance between us. If anything, he settles in closer, his shoulder brushing against mine.
Ten minutes into the film, he shifts, draping his arm along the back of the couch behind me. It’s the oldest move in the book, but something about the deliberate way he does it—measuring my reaction from the corner of his eye—makes my skin prickle.
I’ve seen this movie so many times I could recite the dialogue from memory, which is fortunate because I can’t focus on the screen at all. Every part of me is attuned to Emmett’s proximity, to the subtle shifts of his body beside mine, to the faint smell of his cologne.
