“We’ll just be a minute!” she calls over her shoulder before pushing me through the front door.
“I know for a fact your phone is permanently attached to your palm,” I say the minute Andy closes our apartment door, “so what do you need to say?”
“Uh…what’s going on out there, Liberty Bell?” Andy asks, lacing her fingers together under her chin.
“What do you mean?”
“You appear to be having coffee with a man in our garden. An extremely hot man at that. The same man I saw in our lobby over thirty-six minutes ago when I left to pick up the boys. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this now qualifies as your longest relationship in at least a year.”
“Andy!” I scold, but she’s not wrong. “RootDown has taken up a lot of my time. Owen is just a guy I met, and he agreed to pretend we’re engaged for my mother’s gala tonight.”
“Hum…” Andy twirls her ponytail. “Why not just say he’s a guy you met…why fake date? Why not take him to the gala as your real date?”
“Because I just met him.”
“Oh right, that makes sense…” Andy says sarcastically.
“My mom thinks she’s going to convince me to marry Peter tonight.”
“Your dad’s fish sticks have a better personality than that dude,” Andy agrees.
“Exactly. So this just feels cleaner. A clear agreement, no messy feelings.”
“Lily Pad, I know that asshole Isaac messed you up, but feelings are not the enemy here, no matter how emotionally undermining he was.”
“It wasn’t…” I stop myself before finishing withthat bad, because it was. My ex, Isaac, had a talent for pointing out all my flaws—sometimes subtle, sometimes not—and then acting like I should thank him for sticking around. Like I was supposed to be grateful he was willing to ‘fix’ me every time I fell short. But in the end, even he decided I was too high-maintenance to fix.
“This is not about him,” I dismiss her concern. “This is about getting my mother off my back for a night.”
“Maybe, but fake dating a guy who clearly makes your stomach do thatfluttery thing—that’s a move made by someone who’s scared to let herself have a good time.”
“He does not make my stomach do…whatever…anything. It’s fake. That’s all we agreed to. That’s all I want.” Andy didn’t respond. She just gave me a stupid, knowing look. “Now go get your dogs back from my fake fiancé.”
“Just be sure I’m on the guest list for your fake wedding,” Andy says, pulling me into a tight hug, her bubble gum scent filling the air between us. “You’re allowed to enjoy this, Liv, even if it’s a little messy.”
Chapter 6
Owen
I miraculously find street parking directly in front of Liv’s apartment ten minutes before six. And I had to actively try not to arrive any earlier.
After Liv and I said goodbye this morning, I went upstairs to see Eli. We talked for a while about writing, but when it became clear that he didn’t want to discuss his non-progress, I tried to convince him to come with me into the City for the afternoon. After yesterday’s strange rainfall, today was lovely.
Despite what Andy had said earlier, Eli wasn’t a complete shut-in. He goes to the gym every day, wearing noise-canceling headphones and talking to no one. Even though his entire diet consists of only five items, he procures them himself. Occasionally, he visits the planetarium in Golden Gate Park. The stars, he says, reminded him that there's a bigger world out there, even if he didn’t always want to be part of it. But I was worried about him.
He shut down my idea of Chinatown dumplings, but I left with a promise—or maybe a threat—to return tomorrow.
I had been buzzing all day to get back here. Despite knowing it was a fake date to placate her mother, my time with Liv in the garden earlier was the most enjoyable date I’d had in months. She was charming, funny, and probably thesmartest person I’d ever met. And that was saying something, since I represented two senators, a global humanitarian, and a Pulitzer Prize-winning author—even if the latter wouldn’t leave his apartment. I couldn’t believe Liv needed someone to pretend to be her date. That men weren’t banging down her door to date her for real.
“Yes?” Her voice cracks through the speaker, and it is still the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
“It’s Owen.”
The door clicks, and I enter the building. I’m about to knock on 1B when a tall man jogs down the stairs in running clothes.
“Hey, man,” he gives a cliché dude-chin-tip, but I catch the way he slows to watch me, his eyes flicking to the bouquet in my hand. “You here for Andy?”
“Um, Liv, actually.”
