CHAPTER 7 #2
I ignore him, keeping my eyes locked on Zara. “I know I’m not a cheater because I know myself, and when there is someone I love, I do absolutely everything in my power to protect them.”
“Someone you love?” she presses. “Strange… I thought you just said you’d never been in love.”
“In love, no. But love? Yes. I love eleven people, to be exact.”
“Who are these eleven th—?”
“His family, Z.” Oliver cuts her off, and his frown turns into a glare. “Not a single question about them.”
A sudden warmth swells in my chest watching Oliver shield my family from his best friend’s nosiness and his psycho brother.
He didn’t have to do that.
I could’ve easily answered dismissively or changed the subject, but the fact that he actually stepped up to protect them… it means the world to me.
“Fine… One last question, and I promise it has nothing to do with family, dicks, or friends.” She surrenders, and I smile.
“Are you going to hurt my best friend, Damián? Because Oliver might be a sweet, forgiving angel, but I will absolutely key your car, slash your tires, and burn your freaking apartment to the ground if you break his heart.”
Then… I burst out laughing.
Beside me, Oliver is now practically dying of embarrassment, hiding his blushing face behind his hands.
“Oh, God…” Oliver groans into his palms.
“I promise you, Zara, I have zero intention of hurting Ollie,” I say, angling my body entirely toward him.
Reaching up, I gently wrap my fingers around his wrists and pull his hands away from his face so I can look right into his beautiful hazel eyes.
“My only intentions are to help him any way I can, so he can achieve anything he wants. And I mean it.”
I lean in, press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, and he smiles… a smile even brighter than the one he had while laughing when he was alone with Zara just a few moments ago. And I have no idea why, but seeing that look on his face makes me feel like I just won something.
What did I win? No clue.
But what I do know is that whatever it is, it’s something valuable.
Zara watches us, looking extremely satisfied with my answers, and I like it.
How about that?
Who knew winning the approval of a fake boyfriend’s best friend would feel this good? I guess I’m just glad the mission is going perfectly according to plan.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement near the romance section.
I turn and spot Finnian. He is wrapping up a conversation with a customer at another table, only to immediately move on to the next.
Oh no way…
Is Finnian pretending that it’s normal for him to do a meet-and-greet with every single table, just so he has an excuse to come over here and interrogate Ollie without making it obvious to the shadows?
Sure enough, Finnian begins the most absurd fake ‘tour’ around his bakery.
He wipes down a table that is already clean and adjusts a stack of napkins at the next table. He asks an elderly couple if their croissants are flaky enough, and recommends a cookie to a kid.
Dios, he looks hilarious. I wish I could record this…
“Well, it looks like I won’t be the only one getting interrogated by a friend today,” I whisper to Oliver.
“What do you mean?”
“Give it a minute, and you’ll see.”
Then, suddenly, surprise, surprise, he finally arrives at our booth.
Damn… I should’ve picked a booth further in the back.
See how long it would take him to reach us.
“Oh! Damián,” Finnian says, with the fakest surprise. “I didnae see you come in.”
“Hi, Finni,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning. “I’m so happy you’re a baker; you would starve to death if you ever tried getting cast.”
“Haha! I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just here to check if the pies an’ sweets are to your liking,” he says, with a thick Scottish accent, his amber eyes glaring at me. “Like I always do… with all ma tables.”
“They are incredible,” Oliver says with a smile. “I’m Oliver, by the way. Damián has told me so much about this place. You’re a genius.”
And by the super-happy face Finnian has, I can tell Oliver just won him over with that one single comment.
“It is so lovely to meet you, Oliver. Damián is one of our best regulars; he brings all of his art clients here an’ uses us as if we were his office. Still, it’s lovely to see him genuinely smile for once.”
I scoff. “What are you talking about? I smile all the time.”
“You smolder.”
Oliver gasps. “He does smolder!”
“The fuck is that?” I ask indignantly.
“You know, like a smoldering gaze,” Finnian says, as if repeating the word would magically explain everything. “Like Mr. Rider’s eyes.”
“Are you comparing me… to Rapunzel’s boyfriend?”
“Aye.”
“What th—Mmm… actually, I don’t mind. Flynn is awesome.” I take a bite of my croissant. “Okay, I approve.”
“You know Flynn Rider?” Zara asks, shocked.
“Dami knows more about Disney than you do about brands.”
Zara bursts out laughing. “I never would’ve guessed that in a million years.”
“What?! I have a nephew.”
“You’ve liked bairns’ films since way before your nephew was born. Remember when you went off your head for five days because Kocoum died ‘over a lassie’?”
“Ah, Finni. So great seeing you, but I think your other customers need you now.” I shoo him away with my hands, and the culero laughs.
“Finni, would you mind sitting down with us? I would love to know how you make the pastries this flaky without burning them.”
“Oh, nae. I shouldn’t intrude,” Finnian says, while sitting down next to Zara. “But since you’re extremely insistent… I’ll oblige.”
“Extremely insistent?” I raise an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Go eat your croissant. I’m not here to talk to you.” He shoos me back with his hand, and I laugh. “So, Oliver, tell us about yourself.”
And just like that, Finnian stays for another hour, asking questions, laughing, teaching Ollie how he makes his flaky things, talking about how we all met, and making plans to come back for another pie, before finally returning to the counter to help Lena with a client’s order.
We then spend another thirty minutes in the booth. During all that time, I keep my arm draped across the back of the seat, and my fingers idly playing with the soft hair at the nape of Oliver’s neck. I talk with Zara, I steal bites of Oliver’s pie, and completely enjoy this Friday afternoon.
“Oh, crap, I have to get back to work,” Zara says, checking her phone. She slides out of the booth, grabbing her purse. “Damián, it was really nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“Ollie, walk me to the subway?”
“Yeah, of course,” Oliver says, and turns to me. “It’s a block away from here, want to come?”
“You go, nene.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very,” I lean in and kiss his cheek. “You haven’t seen her in weeks. Walk her to the metro, and catch up. I’ll pay the bill and wait for you outside.”
“Thank you.” Oliver leans in, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
I watch them walk out, my chest tightening as the bell chimes and the door swings shut behind them.
I let out a long breath, grab the empty dishes, and carry them over to the counter.
Finnian is standing by the register, wiping down the espresso machine. He looks up as I approach, tapping a few buttons on the screen to pull up my tab.
“Dami, for the millionth time, you don’t need to clean your table.” He glares at me as I put the dishes in a tray where there are other dirty dishes.
“Can’t leave them there; my mamá would kill me if I forget my manners,” I tell him as I pass him my credit card.
“Please… Ana María is a sweetheart,” he says, as he swipes my credit card. “An’ he is magnificent, Dami.”
“He definitely is something.”
“It’s incredible, though…”
“What is?” I ask.
“Seeing you like this with someone.”
“What are you talking about? You’ve seen me with many men and women.” I frown, taking my card back from him. “You even put that stupid ‘no hooking up with regulars’ rule because of me. Well, and Bjorn… mostly Bjorn.”
“Aye, I’ve seen you flirt an’ snogging with many people, but I’ve never seen—” Finnian points to our now-empty table. “—that.”
“Yes, you have.”
Finnian leans closer. “Nae, Damián, I haven’t, because you never touched them unless they touched you first. With Oliver, you kept touching him, all the time.”
“Pss…” I say, mostly because I have no response to that.
I was touching him all the time.
But he felt so soft. It’s not my fault; my hand likes how it feels to touch him.
“An’ that kiss? Ooft!”
“Look, that’s how boyfriends act, no? So if you think about it, I’m just fucking great at doing my job.”
Finnian glares at me and snatches the receipt back. “Fine, do whatever you want, you stubborn mule. Just be careful, Damián, because feelings can get hurt very easily when the lines get blurred.”
“Then you can stop worrying about Oliver, because he is way too used to sleeping around, and dumb stuff like holding hands means nothing to him. So relax, Finni… he won’t ever catch feelings for me,” I explain, trying my hardest to ignore the uncomfortable feeling I have in my chest after saying that out loud.
“Dami…” He pats me on the arm. “I wasn’t talking about his feelings.”
I scoff, waving off his stupid comment.
“You know what, instead of playing Dr. Phil, you should pay attention to your damn staff. Kai almost intentionally smashed a drink on Ollie.”
“That will be dealt with.”
“…Thanks,” I say, snatching my receipt from the counter before leaving.
I wait outside for a couple of minutes until Oliver comes back, and then we walk to my car so I can give him a ride home.
I open his door, get in the car, turn on the music, and drive, zoning out.
I drive for five minutes silently, my eyes fixed on the taillights of the traffic ahead of us. I’m like a damn zombie, with my brain unable to go beyond what fucking Finnian said…
Fuck… this is absurd.
I like Finni a lot, but he is a baker, not a damn psychologist. Just because he saw me put my arm around my fake boyfriend and do fake things for almost two hours, he can suddenly decide I am emotionally invested.
The hell with that exaggeration.