He looks up, and our eyes meet, and for a second, neither of us moves. Then his face breaks into that crooked smile I’ve seen in a thousand photos, but somehow, it’s different when it’s directed at me.
“Sorry I’m late,” I manage, sliding into the booth across from him.
“I thought you weren’t going to show.” His voice is quiet, uncertain.
“I wasn’t.”
He flinches.
I raise my gaze to his. “See, I built up this big fairy tale in my head,” I say. “Meeting this guy I had this amazing connection with. A guy who makes me laugh constantly, who gets my weird sense of humor. But in my head, he was just…an ordinary guy. Like me.” I swallow. “And I guess I had to mourn that version before I could deal with my actual reality.”
He’s watching me cautiously. “And what’s your actual reality?”
“That I get to meet a guy I have an amazing connection with, who makes me laugh constantly, who gets my weird sense of humor, and just happens to be a multi-millionaire pop star.”
He meets my gaze, and the relief I see on his face makes me realize how much the scriptwriters ofNotting Hillgot it right with the whole celebrities-have-real-feelings plotline.
“I’m really glad you decided to come,” he says.
“Yeah, me too.”
His throat works as he looks away. Under the baseball cap, with his shoulders slightly hunched, he looks almost ordinary. Almost. Then he glances back at me, and those dark eyes catch the light and—nope, never mind, still devastatingly handsome. “So, you want something to drink?” he asks.
“Yep, coffee would be great. And you’re buying.”
A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’m buying, am I?”
“Yep. You’re a multi-millionaire pop star. I’m a broke student. I’m pretty sure it would be polite for you to offer to buy me coffee in this situation.” I stretch back, giving him a catlike smile.
I’m not going to pretend there isn’t a world of differences between us. Instead, I’m going to embrace the elephant in the room. Give it a giant hug. And maybe get a free coffee out of it.
“I might even offer to buy you a slice of red velvet cake,” he says.
I give him a wink. “You know all my weaknesses.”
His gaze drops to my mouth for just a second before meeting my eyes again. “Not quite all,” he says.
And the heat that sparks between us makes me feel almost giddy.
Fuck. This is happening.
It’s actually happening. I’m on a date with Anthony Devine.
He gestures at the waitress who’s been hovering nearby. She’s clearly trying to figure out if he’s really Anthony Devine or just someone who looks remarkably similar.
For a second, ordering food feels surreal. Like, an hour ago, I was hyperventilating outside Madison Square Garden, and now I’m debating whether to get a cappuccino or a latte while Anthony Devine sits across from me, stealing glances at me over his menu like I’m the most interesting thing in this room.
We order food, and then we talk.
We talk about the concert and the rush he gets from performing. We talk about my classes and how Jade still hasn’t figured out that I reorganize her food when she’s not home. We talk about his mother’s habit of critiquing his stage outfits.
And it turns out Anthony Devine in real life is no different from AntD online. He still laughs at my dumb jokes. He still has strong opinions about weird stuff. He still remembers every random thing I’ve told him.
And actually hearing him laugh out loud, seeing the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, is so much better than a laughing emoji. Obviously. But I didn’t realize how much better until right now.
There’s also the way he looks at me. Like I’m the only person in the room and everything I say matters. I keep catching his gaze lingering a beat too long, and each time, it sends a jolt through my chest that I’m trying very hard to play cool about.
Eventually, the lights flicker—once, twice—and I look up to see a very tired server pointedly wiping down the counter while shooting glances in our direction.
