Almardon
You’re flying to Toronto to fake-date a girl who barely tolerates you
Your point?
Almardon
My point is you’re going to get your heart broken
Worth it
He sends back the shrug emoji and I pocket my phone. Almardon doesn’t get it. Nobody does. They all think I’m being ridiculous, chasing someone who’s made it clear she’s not interested.
But they didn’t see her face yesterday when she told me about her ex. They didn’t hear the way her voice cracked when she said he got engaged after three months. They don’t know that underneath all that ice, she’s actually hurt and trying so hard to pretend she’s not.
I want to be the person who makes her stop pretending. Or at least the person who’s there when she does.
At 4:55, I text her.
Outside
The building door opens two minutes later and she walks out pulling a suitcase, wearing leggings and an oversized sweater, hair in a ponytail. No makeup that I can see. She looks tired and beautiful.
I get out and take her suitcase, my fingers brushing hers as I lift it from her grip. “Morning.”
“It’s not morning. It’s still night.” But she’s looking at me, really looking, and finally registers what I’m wearing. Her eyes do this quick sweep from my face down and back up. “You dressed up.”
“This is dressed up?”
“You look like you’re going to a photo shoot, not catching a nine AM flight.”
“I alwayslook like this.”
She laughs, the sound cutting through the pre-dawn quiet. “You absolutely do not.”
I load her suitcase into the trunk. “Get in, JuJu. We’ve got a flight to catch.”
She slides into the passenger seat and I take a second before getting in to just appreciate that this is actually happening. Juliette Chastain is in my car. We’re going to the airport together. I have an entire weekend to prove to her that I’m not just the annoying guy who won’t leave her alone.
I’m going to make this count.
“You okay?” I ask once we’re on the road, glancing at her profile in the dim dashboard light.
“Fine.”
“You look tired.”
“I didn’t sleep much.”
“Nervous about the wedding?”
“Something like that.” She’s looking out the window, not at me. “I still can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”
“Which part? Going to the wedding or bringing me?”
“Both. Mostly the second part.”
“Having second thoughts?”
