My Grumpy Fake Date by Quinn Amara

Author:Quinn, Amara
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter nine

BEX

My fake date with Oliver at The Garnished Plate is nothing like I expected.

Sure, I expected the fancy food and posh décor of the bistro, but what I didn’t expect was to really and truly enjoy myself. I figured we would probably talk about superficial things at best, surface-level chitchat with maybe a few more of his condescending or derogatory comments mixed in. At the very least, I thought we would talk about our pretend arrangement and what else he sees us doing together before the clock on this deal runs out.

But instead, we sip wine, nosh on food, and simply talk. It feels like an enjoyable, real conversation, and I find myself having to remember that this is not a dream, and it’s not real, either.

After a couple of drinks, we are both starting to loosen up, and even though the dining room of this place is packed to the brim and bustling with conversations and paying customers, Oliver seems to have his full attention on me.

I guess he’s pretty good at this pretend-dating thing. It makes me wonder if he’s done it before.

“So, how long have you been playing the cello?” he asks, leaning into the table as if he is hanging on my answer.

“Gosh, for as long as I can remember. I think I was in like the third grade when I first picked it up. Ever since then, it’s been sort of my thing.” I don’t realize that my face must be contorting into some sort of weird expression until Oliver lifts a brow at me and makes a follow-up statement.

“You seem less enthusiastic than I would expect for someone who is so talented and plays so beautifully. Is it truly your thing? Or is it something you feel like you’re supposed to do?”

How in the world can this guy—who I have literally nothing in common with and who I’ve known for all of about five hot minutes—seem to see into my soul so deeply?

“I think I might need another glass of wine before getting into that long story,” I laugh with a roll of my eyes. I have no actual intention of divulging any personal information to him. This is, after all, only pretend.

But Oliver isn’t about to let me off the hook that easily.

“Wait right here,” he says as he gets up from the table. “I keep all the good stuff locked up in the back.”

Within a couple of moments, he returns with a bottle of sparkling wine in his hands that looks fancy enough to be more expensive than my cello.

He pours it. Then I put the glass to my lips, and the fizzy bubbles tingle against my mouth like delicious little sparks. How can I not drink more of this while I have the chance?

After another glass, we are both opening up to each other with intimate details about our personal lives that I never thought we’d share.

Strangely enough, he seems to really understand and empathize with the way I overcompensate to please my parents.

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