Chapter 43
NO ROSES OR SYMPHONY
REMY
This feels a little like flinging open the door on a warm summer day and drinking in the sunshine.
And also like turning down a dark, creaky corridor late at night.
“Talk to me,” Lake says, both a calm command and a gentle invitation, which is sort of his style. And maybe that’s why I’m saying this out loud first to him and not to Elena.
The thought has flitted past my mind when I’ve written down topics for our sessions. But I haven’t quite voiced it.
I feel safe with her, of course.
But with Lake I also feel seen. Maybe because I let him see me.
And so, I take the next step.
“Lately I haven’t felt inspired. I’ll try to work on dates, but my mind just wanders,” I begin.
“It’s like I have romance-planner’s block.
But I don’t think I really have that. I don’t think that’s a real thing.
I think it’s because—” I stop, pausing to take a deep breath because this is as uncomfortable as being on an exam table at the doctor’s office but you know you have to do it anyway.
“I think it’s because I’ve always done it. ”
He nods, which surprises me. “Is this to do with what your parents said at the picnic? About the dates you planned for them?”
Tears prick the back of my eyes. My throat tightens.
How did he notice that? But then again, that’s what this man has done.
From the night at the arena when he found me wearing a hat, then insisted on giving me a ride home, then declared he was going to be my fake date, he’s always been finding me. “Yes,” I say. “How did you know?”
“The way you reacted. You tensed up; you shifted to another topic right away.”
“And you gave me a look. A curious one,” I say, recalling that too. A look I didn’t want to acknowledge then. But I do now.
“I figured you’d talk about it when and if you were ready.” He drags his chair even closer to me, so close our knees knock. It’s reassuring, the knee connection. “What’s going on, Remy?”
Now it’s my turn. I’m the only one who can do the rest of this excavation.
“When I was younger my dad went through this whole period of depression and honestly, not even wanting to be here on this planet at times,” I say, then I choke up at the mention of his struggles.
“And my mom was there for him and she helped him, and they went to therapy alone and together. He always felt like he was bringing her down. He felt like his sadness was ruining her happiness. And she just wanted to show him that she loved him. That he wasn’t bringing her down.
That she wanted them to stay together, even if he struggled with his… mental health.”
I swipe at my cheeks and keep digging. “I didn’t want them to split up either, so I would make dinner for them.
I would plan a game night. I would set up candlelight and music and everything,” I say, my throat raw as I tell him the story.
“I saw everything my mom was doing to try to help him, and I started doing it too, but for them.”
Lake rubs a palm on one of my knees, soothing me.
His touch is so comforting—almost as much as the way he listens is.
“When I plan dates now, it’s fun and I like it, but I think,” I say, then wince, because facing all your childhood issues is like scraping your skin against a jagged rock, “I’m just doing it out of this fear that if I don’t, somebody will split up.
Like if I can create all the right vibes and the mood, people can stay in love.
” I stop, replay what I just said. “Now that I say that out loud, it sounds ridiculous.”
“No.” His voice is strong and certain. He reaches for my hands and holds them tightly. “It’s not ridiculous. It’s not ridiculous at all. Those things do matter. But what you want also matters. That’s a lot to take on as a kid, and you don’t have to keep taking it on as an adult.”
Something heavy in my chest lifts even as a tear slips down one cheek. “I don’t think I want to take it on.”
A smile shifts his lips. “If it’s not what you want to do, then don’t do it. A date doesn’t have to have roses or a symphony to be special. A date can just be two people hanging out.”
Like this.
I want to say the next thing. I’m dying to say the next thing.
That this list from Lacey has shown me that what matters in romance are the little moments.
The unexpected. The challenges. Trying to make breakfast and failing.
A cat breaking a plate and cleaning it up together.
Helping someone’s parent. Volunteering for the other person’s event.
Taking a road trip when you’re not even sure what to say to the other person.
Dealing with a misunderstanding at the hotel desk.
But if I say all that, then I’ll say something even scarier—that I’m falling for my fake boyfriend.
And that’s not in the rules we clearly laid out. Sure, I want to believe he feels something real. But I’ve been fooled before, not long ago.
I don’t want to make another mistake.
I pour all my focus into the one thing I’m sure of right now, and I say it with my whole heart. “I’m going to shut down Romance By Design,” I say, and wow.
My hand flies to my mouth, like I can’t believe I said that. But I’m so glad I said it. That is what I needed. That’s the step I needed to take. And now I do feel like it’s a summer day, and I’m lifting my face toward the sky.
I lower my hand. “Today! I’m going to do it today.”
“Proud of you,” he says with a gorgeous smile, one that floods my whole chest with lightness. I think I needed that kind of support. That kind of encouragement.
He squeezes my hands and that emboldens me. So I do something bold too. I cup his cheeks and I lean forward. I kiss him, soft, slow, and tender. Like I can tell him with the caress of my lips how much this fling has meant to me.
He’s done exactly what he promised he’d do. Shown me passion, honesty, and respect. And I try to say with the slide of my mouth, the stroke of my hand, the softness of our kiss what that means to me.
What he means.
Maybe later, maybe at another time, when I’m feeling braver, I can say it with words.