The Dating Bot's Fake Wife

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Faye

So many people come through here. All different types and sorts, but they all have one thing in common.

They love the smell of coffee.

“Mmmm, that smells good,” Darla says as she walks into my coffee shop wearing a Jays hat, her black yoga pants covered in dog fur as usual.

She’s a professional dog walker, and I mean professional.

There are nine dogs tied to the bench outside and this girl can walk them all with nine leashes in one hand and a hot coffee in the other.

I don’t know how she does it. I’d have first-degree burns all over my chest after crossing the first squirrel.

“Hey, Faye. I’ll have whatever you’re making. ”

“Another triple cortado with extra foam, coming up,” I say with a grin.

“A triple?” Darla says with a wince. “Better keep it to a single. I’ll be up for days.”

“That seems to be the plan,” I say with a laugh as I hand the adrenaline-infused cortado to the college student with the bloodshot eyes, wrinkled shirt, and hair styled in a way that can only be achieved by sleeping on your arm in the back of some dimly lit library.

“Brandon, when was the last time you slept in a bed?”

“I don’t have time for sleep,” he says as he takes the cup and hands me a wrinkled five-dollar bill. “I’m failing biology.”

“There’s one thing I know about biology,” I tell him as I hand him his change. “The body can’t function without sleep.”

“I still have three chapters to memorize.” His chin wobbles and my heart goes out to him. The guy looks like he needs a long nap and a hug from his mom. “And my test is this afternoon.”

I grab the jar of dog biscuits from under the counter and pour some into his hand.

“Take these to that giant pile of living fur outside and make sure to get a hug from the cute golden retriever,” I say. “He can cure anything that’s ailing you.”

“Thanks, Faye,” he whimpers as he heads outside with the cookies.

Darla and I laugh as he kneels down and is instantly swarmed by the excited dogs. At least he has a smile on his face now.

“Hey Darla,” my co-worker Honey says as she arrives from the back, carrying a box of lids. The new trainee, Isaac, is following her with his hands in his pockets. “How’d that date go last night?”

Darla lets out a deflated breath. “Allergic to dogs.”

“Mmmm,” I grunt. “Deal breaker.”

“Instant deal breaker,” Darla says, nodding.

“I’m not allergic to dogs,” Isaac says, perking up.

All three of us look at him.

“Not sure Darla is interested in high school kids,” Honey says with a look of pity on her face.

Isaac is affronted. “I graduated last spring. I’m eighteen.”

Honey turns to Darla—who’s in her mid thirties—with a smirk. “What do you say, Darla? Interested?”

Darla puts her hand on her hip and looks him up and down. “Do you know how to change a water heater and/or have a truck to bring a broken water heater to the dump?”

His cheeks get red. “What’s a water heater?”

“Oooh,” we all say at the same time.

“You just blew your shot,” I tell him, shaking my head. “Word to the wise, Isaac. Nothing sexier than a man who knows his way around Home Depot.”

Darla winks at him as she takes her cup. “Ask me again in ten years, kid.”

Isaac perks back up. “I will!” he says a little too loudly as she walks out the door.

“Go stock the rest of the cups,” Honey says impatiently.

I give her a look and she sighs.

“Please,” she reluctantly adds.

I’m the closest thing this coffee shop has to a manager and I’m trying to keep everyone civil. Please and thank-yous are the least we can do.

“And take your hands out of your pockets,” Honey shouts after him.

Isaac takes one hand out of his pocket.

Honey closes her eyes.

“Both hands, Isaac.”

He sighs like this is a huge ask, but complies.

I’m wiping down the cappuccino machine when Honey slinks over, giving me a look like she wants some tea.

“What?”

She grins. “Are you going to let me see it now?”

“No,” I say, regretting that I ever brought it up in the first place.

“Why not?” she whines. “It’s going to be on network TV tonight. Millions of people will be watching it.”

“Please don’t remind me.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

I yank the portafilter off the machine and slam it against the compost bin. “It’s bad.”

“I won’t laugh. I promise.”

I sigh as I clean out the stubborn coffee grains with my finger. “I know you won’t. Because it’s not funny. It’s mean.”

The video she wants to see is of my engagement.

My fiancé, Alex, thought it would be hilarious to prank me during the supposed most romantic moment of my life.

And then, if that wasn’t inconsiderate enough for him, he sent it to Funniest Home Bloopers.

Not only did it get chosen to air on tonight’s episode, they also made it a finalist for the fifty-thousand-dollar grand prize.

“You know that everyone you know is going to see it, right?” Honey asks as she crosses her arms and leans on the counter.

I shove the portafilter back into the machine with a grunt. “Fine. I’ll show you.”

She leans over my shoulder as I pull it up on my phone. I can’t even watch it, so I just give her my phone and wipe down the sink.

I hear the romantic music and my excited gasp as I thought I realized what was happening. Alex set up a romantic scene outside with candles, flowers, a set table, and he came out wearing a suit.

“What’s this?” Isaac asks, returning with two boxes of coffee cups. He stops and watches the video.

I get an urge to yank my phone out of Honey’s hands and turn it off, but what’s the point? This video is going to be on millions of screens around the world in a few hours, so I might as well get used to the idea of people seeing it.

I hear Alex asking me to marry him, and then I close my eyes, waiting for it.

A shrill scream as he turns the moment I dreamed about my whole life into a cruel prank.

Isaac bursts out laughing—of course he does—as crashing sounds burst from my phone.

Honey turns the phone off and hands it back to me with a look of disgust on her face.

“That’s hilarious,” Isaac says, still laughing.

I ignore him and focus on Honey, my stomach sinking.

“That’s not funny.”

“Told you.”

“It’s mean.”

“Told you.”

“Your fiancé is an ass.”

I sigh as I slip my phone back into my pocket. “Whatever,” I say as a familiar numbness takes over my body. “At least we’ll have fifty thousand dollars to put toward the wedding if we win.” I guess that will be worth all the embarrassment.

“Fifty thousand dollars?” Isaac says. “Where are you getting that?”

“It’s going to be on Funniest Home Bloopers tonight,” Honey says.

His face lights up in a smile. “I love that show. Wow, your husband is my hero.”

“He’s not my husband yet,” I mutter.

Honey yanks the boxes from Isaac’s hands and tosses them on the floor. “Go get the rest. Please.”

We get to work, unloading the coffee cups and stocking them up as Isaac shuffles into the back with his hands in his pockets.

I glance at Honey. She’s silent. Her jaw is tight. You know it’s bad when Honey isn’t talking.

“It was just a joke,” I say with a shrug. “Alex didn’t mean anything by it.”

“It was cruel,” she says, shaking her head and looking like she’s doing violent things to my fiancé in her mind. “You didn’t deserve that. It was your engagement. You deserve romance.”

I nearly snort out a laugh. Romance. Yeah, right. For my past three birthdays, Alex forgot one, went golfing with his brother on another, and for the last one, he got me a bottle of shampoo because—his words—my hair ‘smells like a dude.’ So yeah.

“Romance is not in Alex’s vocabulary.”

“Well, then maybe you should get it somewhere else.”

“And where is this magical romance?” I ask, rolling my eyes.

Honey shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe it will be the next guy to walk through the front door.”

The door opens a second later and we both perk up like we’re witnessing fate.

“No way,” she says as we both jump up, curious to see who’s there.

We both laugh when we see Owen walking in. He’s a regular. A regular for the coffee shop, not a regular human. There’s nothing regular about that man.

He’s like a human computer who was never programmed to smile. A cyborg set on slightly irritated mode.

As always, he’s wearing a white collared shirt with a quarter-zip over it (gray today) and chino pants in a slightly darker shade of beige than yesterday.

If Owen had a fashion line, it would be called Corporate Bland.

He’s tall and handsome with a muscular build, but I just wish he would have a pop of color somewhere to prove he’s not color blind.

Maybe a red band on his watch or bright socks peeking out. Anything, really.

He comes in Monday to Friday, every morning at exactly 7:38 on the nose. He always insists that I make his coffee, and has the most complicated order known to mankind.

I know all my regulars so well. Pet names, jobs, hobbies, even birthdays, but it took three years before Owen told me his name and he looked pained to even tell me that.

“Is the world ending?” I ask as he walks up to my counter with his broad shoulders pulled back. “You’re here at 10:46. Has the space-time continuum exploded?”

“Coffee would be the last thing on my mind if the space-time continuum collapsed,” he says like I was posing a serious question. “The resulting effects would be immediate and catastrophic.”

“Good to know,” I say as Honey chuckles.

I move to get his order ready as he leans over the counter. “Double ristretto, oat milk, sixty degrees, stirred for consistency, no foam, and the espresso needs to sit for ten seconds before combining.”

“Owen, you don’t need to order every time,” I tell him. “I got it.”

“I don’t want you to get it wrong.”

“Do I ever get it wrong?” I ask as I begin to prepare it.

“On occasion.”

“In the past year?”

He shrugs those broad shoulders. “Once, last February, but overall this year has been good for consistency.”

That’s as close to a compliment as I’m going to get from this guy.