A smile pulls at my mouth. “That’s really good. Open-ended. Personal without crossing a line.”
“I’m learning.”
For the next hour, we run through dating fundamentals—respect, listening, eye contact, reading the room. He catalogs each of my points as if storing it to memory.
“Alright,” I say, pushing to my feet. He stands immediately. I step closer—not touching, just inside his personal space. His warmth radiates from his body while cedar and sage cocoon me. I exhale, regaining my composure. “It’s the end of the night and you walk me to my car, what do you say?”
He draws in a steady breath. “Thanks for inviting me. I had a really good time.”
“Good. Now add intention.”
“If you ever need another date, I’d be happy to go with you.”
There it is. Simple. Sincere. And with a tiny hint of confidence. My pulse trips over itself. “Perfect,” I murmur. “That’s exactly right.”
He smiles, one side tipping up higher than the other. “Thank you for helping me.”
“You’re welcome.” And for half a second, I forget what we’re doing. I step back first. “Practice date over.”
“Right.” He grabs his jacket and heads for the door. Just as he pulls it open, I call his name, and he turns around.
“Relax,” I tell him, softer this time. “You’ve got this.”
He nods once then steps into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him. Pride settles low in my gut along with another emotion that’s harder to name. He’s ready for his fake date. And there’s a very real chance he’s going to charm her.
Five
Maybe Dating Isn’t Impossible
Miles
My phone buzzes at 4:15 p.m., fifteen minutes before I leave for my date. This time I remembered to ask Emily if she wants me to pick her up. She agreed since it would look more convincing if we arrived together. The second she sent her address, I mapped the fastest route from my place to hers and then to the restaurant. With minimal traffic, we’ll pull in right at five.
I sit on my couch in a black polo and khakis while Mallow, my black-and-white tuxedo cat, weaves between my legs. I exhale for the first time in what feels like hours. This is good. This isn’t a real date. This is practice. My 4:30 alarm buzzes, and I jump to my feet, grab my keys, and head out the door.
The engagement party looks exactly as Nora described. String lights sweep across the ceiling, bathing everything in warm gold. Champagne mingles with citrus from freshly twisted peels and the heavy sweetness of floral arrangements. Glassware clinks in constant percussion as mini toasts erupt in random bursts across the restaurant.
I recalibrate my grip on the champagne flute. I don’t actually enjoy champagne. The carbonation is aggressive, and the acidity skews high. But declining the glass would have required a social explanation, so I accepted it.
A cork discharges nearby with a muted—thunk-pop—followed by laughter that spikes the ambient noise level. My mouth dries. I swallow, but it doesn’t help. Everyone else knows where to stand, what to do with their hands, when to laugh. I stand there with my jaw locked, with a smile loaded and ready to deploy the second anyone looks at me. Nora’s voice cuts through the noise in my head.
Relax. You’ve got this
Emily stands beside me, smiling like she’s done this a hundred times. I try to mirror it—shoulders loose, posture open—but I have no idea what to do with my free hand. It hovers awkwardly at my side. I rest it on my hip. Weird. I shove it into my pocket. Now I’m too closed off, so I drop it to my side. Now it’s just… dangling.
Stop overthinking about your hand.
“So,” I say, keeping my voice steady, “how do you know the happy couple?”
She chuckles. “She’s my cousin, remember?”
“Oh. Right.” I press my lips together. “Temporary memory lapse.”
A woman materializes at Emily’s elbow. “Hi, I’m Emily’s Aunt Dorothy. You must be Miles. Emily’s mom mentioned she was bringing a date.” Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “With Lucy engaged, Emily’s the last cousin left. How long have you two been together?”
Emily’s shoulders lock up beside me, the way metal does when it hits a magnet. Her gaze drops to the floor, then flicks back up—polite, but tight. This is the moment. This is why I’m here. Be the date. Take off the family pressure.
“Not long,” I reply evenly, “but long enough to know I’m really enjoying getting to know her.”
