Chapter 6
Olivia saysshe doesn’t feel like going out, but to my surprise, she invites me over to her place for dinner.
“I mean, we should both have some basic knowledge of our fake-partner’s apartment, right?” I couldn’t agree more.
Our walk there goes straight through North Beach—San Francisco’s Little Italy—so we stop by a market to grab everything needed for a lazy meat and cheese board. Neither of us know how to cook.
“What kind of wine do you prefer?” she asks, perusing the rows. The way she examines each label makes it seem like she knows what she’s doing, whereas my wine knowledge starts and stops with red versus white.
“You look like a pro. Just grab whatever you like,” I offer.
“It’s all Italian. I’m mostly familiar with French or Californian varietals.” Varietals? She grabs a bottle and inspects it thoroughly. “Hmmm, I think I like Sangiovese. It’s single origin, usually has nice tannins. Does that work?”
“I only know about half the words you just said, Sparkles.” I grab the bottle from her hand and feel a buzz just from the briefest brush of our fingers. I squeeze my hands into fists to stop myself from seeking more contact. “My fake girlfriend is so sophisticated.”
We argue over who’s paying for a few minutes before she reluctantly concedes, and we head to her apartment. It’s kind of surreal to think I’ll finally see where she lives after two years of wondering. Wondering what she does outside of work, what she looks like when she isn’t wearing her typical blazer, pointy shoes, and hair pulled tight in a bun. I’ve thought about it all. What music she listens to; what she watches on tv; if she’s a morning person or a night owl.
“Well, this is me. Sorry it’s a little cluttered,” she announces when we walk inside. Cluttered isn’t exactly the word I’d use. It’s not messy at all. Just a small studio with a lot of décor. To my delight, she immediately kicks off her shoes and lets her hair down, before swapping the blazer for a hoodie that almost matches mine.
Her walls are covered in photography, hundreds of framed photos lining each corner of the apartment. It looks to be mainly shots of the Bay Area; bridges, the Painted ladies, Land’s End. One wall is just vineyards.
“I like all the photos,” I say as I walk through the space, eyeing them in more detail.
She’s grabbing glasses and plates from the kitchen when she responds, “Oh, yeah. Just a hobby I can’t seem to kick.”
“A hobby? Wait.” I squeeze around the love seat to help her in the kitchen. “You took all these?” I gesture to the walls around us.
“Yeah. I know the place looks like a mess, but I really can’t choose which ones to get rid of. I love them all.” She pouts and shrugs her shoulders until they go all the way up to her ears. I wonder if she knows how beautiful she looks right now.
“Why do you have to get rid of any?” I ask.
“I don’t have to. But anyone who’s ever set foot in my apartment tells me it’s too much. Kind of like my brain.” She mumbles the last part, but I don’t miss it.
“It’s not too much.” I make sure to look at her when I speak, because I can tell there was hurt in her words. I’ve learned a lot about Liv in the last forty-eight hours and I’m realizing that kindness is something she deserves quite a bit more of. I don’t really know how to convey that with my eyes but I’m trying, and the way her mouth softens makes me feel victorious.
“Well, that means you are welcome here anytime.” She grins and hands me one of the glasses she just poured. “Cheers to my very supportive fake boyfriend.”
“Cheers to my very beautiful fake girlfriend.” She blushes as we clink the glasses together and her eyes flutter closed when she tips the glass toward her mouth. To my surprise, she doesn’t take a sip. Especially not a big gulp like I just did. Instead, she tilts the glass to her nose and breathes in deeply. I continue to watch as she swirls the glass, tilts it from one side to the other and then finally brings it to her lips.
They’re painted scarlet today—just a few shades lighter than the wine—and leave a perfect imprint on the glass.
“What was that?” I ask, after she finally swallows a small sip.
“What? Oh, sorry. Habit.” She shrugs again. “The wine’s pretty good. Do you like it?”
“Are you some sort of wine expert? What do you mean, habit?” I’m thoroughly confused.
“My family owns a winery up in Sonoma. Diamond Sky?” I shake my head, not entirely sure which words go together. “I assumed you knew. People in the office are always asking me for free wine.”
“I’ve never been much of a wine drinker,” I respond, which is true, but then she looks at the glass and back at me with an apology in her eyes. “I like this though. You picked a good one.”
“You should’ve told me.” She nudges my shoulder and I grab onto her hand before she can pull it back.
“I like it. I swear. You’ll have to recommend some others for me to try. Maybe I can be as fancy as you.”
I help her plate up all the food and move it over to the coffee table. Her apartment’s too small for a dining set, but I’m glad for the tight space. It feels more comfortable, sitting on the couch, snacking together. It’s nice seeing Liv in her comfort zone, her body relaxed as she tucks her feet under her legs and falls into the couch.
“I always bring a ton of wine back when I visit. I’ll make sure to put a bottle on your desk so everyone knows how special you are.”
I watch her tear off a chunk of bread and try to remind myself she’s only pretending that I’m special, that this whole arrangement is going to end in a few days. When I came up with the idea last night, I don’t think I considered what I’d have to give up once it ended.
I like hanging out with Liv. I’ve always had a thing for her but now that I get to see this side of her, in her own environment, I like her even more.
Part of me wants to run before I become even more pathetically gone for her, but a stronger part of me wants to enjoy this while I can.
“So, I think we need to go over some ground rules,” she says, interrupting my thoughts.
“Rules?” I grab a few almonds from the platter while she nods her head several times, mouthing a few words I can’t make out. “Go ahead. Tell me.”
“Touching.” The word flies through her lips and her eyes bulge. “Sorry, I meant, umm…”
“You’ve got to stop apologizing, Liv. You say sorry more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Sor—” She just barely stops herself and we both grin. “I can’t help it.”
“Just tell me what’s on your mind,” I urge her to continue, because my thoughts are still snagging on the word touching.
“When you held my hand today,” she begins. “It sort of caught me off guard. I guess I just wanted to know what to expect on Friday.”
“You want to know how much I plan on touching you?” Each of her features scrunch together as she nods, her hands in tight fists by her sides on the couch. She looks nervous as hell. About me touching her? Shit.
“I mean, I’m good with it, if you are.” Okay, I can breathe again. “And it’s a work-sponsored event so I don’t think anyone is expecting us to be going at it, but I just need a heads up if you want to start making out or something.”
I really wish I hadn’t just taken a sip of wine because it bursts through my mouth as I choke on her words. Or something?
“Oh no. I’m so sorry!” I glare at her. “Not sorry, just…apologetic. Let me get you a towel.” Luckily, I saved her from the spray by blocking it with my arm. My arm that’s now covered in wine. I really should take smaller sips.
“Just to be clear, you’d like a heads up before I stick my tongue in your mouth? Or…more?” I ask, trying and failing to clean my stained sleeve with the paper towel she hands me. I give up and reach for the hem of my hoodie, taking the whole thing off.
“Preferably, yes. Umm, why are you taking off your clothes? I feel like a heads up there would be nice too.”
Now that I know she’s not nearly as timid as I thought, I feel like messing with her a bit. I stand up and pull her with me, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her up until her feet dangle against me. She makes a little shriek.
“What are you doing?”
“Ravaging you, of course. Is this enough of a heads up?”
She punches at my shoulder. “Oh my god. Put me down, Scottie!” I love it when she calls me that. I love that she has a comeback for everything, even the first time I gave her a nickname.
I set her down, both of us laughing, and take my sweatshirt over to the sink. I never knew how much I’d enjoy making her flustered. It’s not exactly a great recipe for fooling people we’re dating, but I’ll have to enjoy it behind the scenes.
“As for your rules,” I yell over my shoulder, loud enough for her to hear with the running water. “If there’s anything you don’t want me to do, anything you’re uncomfortable with, just tell me. But no, I don’t think anyone expects us to be making out at the off-site.” I leave the wet sweatshirt hanging off the counter to dry and sit back down on the couch. “Unless you want to, of course.” I can’t help it. I wiggle my brows a bit to see if I can make her blush again. And she does. Hell, maybe she does want to kiss me.
“I think I’ll pass,” she says, scooting away from me an inch or two. “At least until I know why you’re so scared of the big bad ferry boats.”
“I am not scared of ferry boats,” I bark back. “I just get motion sickness, okay? Boats, buses, planes, cars. They’re all my enemy.”
Her face softens and I realize I just killed the mood. “That really sucks, Scottie. You can’t be in a car at all? Or fly?”
“I can. But I usually take medicine that puts me to sleep. That’s why I got the bike. Only thing I can ride that never messes with my head.”
“That’s not embarrassing, you know. You promised deep and dark,” she says, arms crossed over her chest. She’s eyeing me like I just stole her favorite toy. It’s cute as hell.
“Fine. I’m terrified of snakes. I will scream like a little baby if I ever see one. Gabby puts a fake one in my bed every so often just to remind me she has all the power in our relationship.” Liv laughs and while I’m not thrilled to be sharing the most unattractive qualities about myself, I am enjoying letting her know me better. “I sing along to every Disney movie. They remind me of when Gabby was little, so we still watch them all the time.” I shrug. She giggles. I love this. “You’ve already seen my pet hedgehog and the personal sling I use to carry him around.”
“That’s not embarrassing! It’s adorable,” she interjects.
“Well, you haven’t seen me give him a bedtime story yet, so…”
“I would really like to see that.”
Noted.
“Maybe you can give me something here? I’m feeling very vulnerable.” I frown. Or try to. Vulnerability isn’t really my thing. “Do you even have any embarrassing stuff?”
She scoffs. “How long have we got?” Now I scoff. “Okay, fine. I only listen to French music. Everyone I know thinks it’s crazy.”
“I didn’t know you spoke French.”
“I don’t,” she deadpans.
“That’s not embarrassing.” I’m more intrigued than anything. “Why do you listen to it?”
“It helps me relax, get out of my head. I don’t know. I think I just feel the music more when I’m not focusing on the lyrics. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so. Why not classical? Or instrumental? Why French?”
“It’s hard to explain, but I like to hear them sing even if I can’t understand it. I think I just like the way it makes me feel. It helps me shut off my brain. Makes me less anxious.”
I’ve seen Liv’s anxiety get the best of her. It makes me glad she’s found a coping mechanism.
“French music, wine, photography.” I list them off on my fingers. “You’re an artist.”
A laugh bubbles out of her that catches me off guard. “I don’t think so.”
“Why is that funny? You are.”
“No. Everyone else in my family is an artist. And everyone agrees that I am the black sheep. I’m basically the opposite of my parents and all three of my brothers.” Three brothers? That’s not intimidating or anything.
“They’re all artists?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Or at least in the sense that they believe any real job is ‘done with your hands.’ My dad’s family goes back three generations as winemakers, ever since his grandparents emigrated here from France. My mom’s a painter. She designs all the bottle labels and did all the murals at the winery—people come just to see them. My brothers all work the vineyard and Deacon—the oldest—is also the head chef there.”
“That’s where you grew up? Surrounded by that?” It sounds like a dream compared to what Gabby and I have been through. But I’m not about to bring up any of that.
“Yeah. It was a little slow for me. Again, black sheep.” She points her thumbs back at herself and makes a face.
“I remember now, your interview. You said you were desperate to live in the city and would take any job to make it happen.”
“I don’t think I said desperate,” she argues, indignation spreading across her features. “But yeah, I was.”
“Well, I’m really glad I went against all better judgment and hired you.”
She punches my shoulder. “You are so lucky you hired me! How many deals did I source for you last year?”
“Most of them,” I concede. “You’re a rockstar. And I’m sorry Mitch hasn’t realized that yet.”
She doesn’t respond, just offers a half-smile. I take a moment to look around the room again at all the photos she’s taken. It feels like I’m reading a treasure map to all her favorite spots in the bay.
“I’ve got an idea. Let’s blow off work Friday morning.”
“I can’t just blow off work, Scottie. I’m not you.”
“Everyone will be busy with the board meeting, they won’t even notice. I’ll tell Mitch we’re both working from home since we’ll be riding to the off-site together.”
“We will?”
“Yep. We’re going on a field trip. Ever been on a motorcycle?”