My phone buzzes. Once. Twice. Then again. I frown and glance down. Several OneDate alerts flash across my screen.
Server timeout error.
Database connection failed.
Traffic threshold exceeded.
My heart plummets. “Oh shit,” I whisper.
I swipe frantically, adrenaline snapping me fully back into myself as I open the admin dashboard. The screen lags. Freezes. Loads again, but barely. Error codes flood the display.
“No, no, no,” I mutter, fingers flying as I attempt to troubleshoot, but when I bypass one error, three more flare up in its place. There are hundreds of new users wanting access. The download code protection must have failed. The app has picked up momentum—fast. It’s everything I’d hoped for, except OneDate isn’t ready. I’m not ready. Its current infrastructure can’t handle the traffic, and the servers are choking.
Once I’m in my SUV, I press my forehead against the steering wheel and let out a shaky breath. Of course this happens tonight, right after the best kiss of my life. Of course this is the time everything implodes at once.
My phone buzzes again. Another error.
I straighten, jaw setting, my panic finally giving way to focus. This I can fix. This I understand. Code doesn’t kiss you senseless and then smile like it means something.
Twelve
Best Fake Boyfriend
Nora
For the next week, I shove everything about Miles to the side and bury myself in OneDate. The first thing I tackled was the download code issue. Everyone who requested access is now neatly tucked into a waitlist, ready for onboarding when I roll out new invites. There are still a few minor error codes to clean up, but the major bugs are fixed, and that alone is a small miracle. I’m now sitting at my desk in yoga pants and a T-shirt that’s three sizes too big, my hair twisted into a messy bun that’s holding on purely out of loyalty and dry shampoo. The string of code on the screen blurs together just as my phone buzzes beside me.
Miles
I was thinking of picking you up in about an hour. That should give us plenty of time to get to my sister’s house.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Dinner with his family. It completely slipped my mind. I’d be an asshole if I bailed now—especially since he’s already held up his end of the deal. I glance down at my two-day-old outfit and sigh.
Nora
Great. See you then.
Congratulations, Nora. You are about to test the limits of how fast a person can go from garbage gremlin to human.
Exactly sixty minutes later, there’s a knock at my door. I pull it open to find Miles standing there in a navy button-down and khakis. His hair is neatly styled, his glasses spotless, and his signature scent invades my nostrils.
His gaze drifts from my head to my shoes and back again. “You look… wow.”
A small laugh slips out of me.
“Words, Miles. Find your words,” he mutters to himself before looking back up. “You look radiant.”
I glance down at my stonewashed jeans, dark gray knit sweater, and ankle boots, then smile. “You know what? I’ll take it.” I step into the hallway and pull the door closed behind me.
“Um—did you remember to turn off your stove?”
“Huh?”
