Chapter 5 Liv
Liv
“Okay, then…great,” Owen says. His tongue darts out to moisten his lip, and I can’t help but track its movement. “What time should I pick you up?”
“You don’t have to do that. We can just meet there,” I say, trying to regain my composure.
“No way, this may be a fake date, but my sisters would kill me if they found out I wasn’t a real gentleman.”
“Alright,” I laugh, “Pick me up at six, wear the suit you wore last night.” I catch Owen’s eyes flick to my body, and I realize I’m still in my pajamas, while Owen is dressed in dark jeans and a fitted dark sweater. “I promise to be in a dress.”
Something about the faint color tinging Owen’s cheeks again causes a flutter behind my ribs. “And…thanks for doing this.”
“It will be fun,” Owen says. “I’m pretty good at selling a story.”
“Oh, right, the story.” I shift to lean against my door. “We should probably know some basic information about each other to make tonight a little more believable?”
“Do you…” He gestures to the coffees he’s still holding. “Want a coffee?”
“Oh my god! You were taking coffee to your friend when I sidelined you. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s no problem. He’s fine alone,” he says, laughing, and points to each one. “I have an oat milk latte and an Americano.”
“Oh, oat milk lattes are my favorite.”
“Mine too,” he smiles, and his eyes crinkle a little at the corners. I try to place his age—he seems around mine, in his early thirties. His dark hair looks freshly trimmed but is a little long on top in an effortlessly messy way. It’s the kind of hair you want to run your fingers through.
“Oh, then that one was yours? You should have it.”
He holds the latte cup out to me. “Please, take it.”
I take the offered cup and consider inviting him inside. Something about Owen makes me feel instantly comfortable, just like last night when he kissed my temple. For some reason, it didn’t feel awkward at all. Now, his presence settles my nerves, the ones my mother fried earlier.
“Want to sit outside?” Owen gestures to the front door.
Yes, that is a better idea.
He holds the door for me, and I settle on the rock wall around our unit’s small front garden. It’s a beautiful day, with no fog and only a gentle breeze.
“Okay, so what do we need to know to make this whole fake fiancé thing believable?” I take a sip of the coffee. It’s gone a little cold, but the creamy coffee is still delicious.
“Um, what is your last name?”
“Arden.”
“Olivia Arden, but you prefer Liv,” his lip tips up. “I’m Owen Bishop. Where did we meet?”
“Um, let’s keep things as close to the truth as possible, so in a bar?” I ask. “And you have two older sisters who live…where?”
“In Ohio, where I grew up. My parents, two sisters, their husbands, and my combined five nieces and nephews still live there.”
“But not you?”
“I live in Santa Barbara now.”
“I love Santa Barbara! Julia Child’s favorite Mexican restaurant is there.”
“Yeah, La Super Rica,” he confirms.
“Their chorizo quesadilla is my favorite.” I shift on the rock wall so I’m facing Owen a little more directly.
“That lady, hand-making tortillas in the back? Can’t beat them.”
I let out a little sigh. The sun, the coffee, the delightful conversation: This fact-finding mission for our fake date is more enjoyable than most real first dates I’ve been on—not that there have been many lately. “And what do you do in Santa Barbara?”
“I’m a literary agent.”
“Ahh,” I laugh. “So when you said you could sell a story, you were being literal?”
“It’s a bad industry joke,” he scrunches his nose, and there’s something about him that’s so endearing, it’s disarming.
“I work for an agency based in LA,” he goes on. “But I work from home.”
“Me too, most of the time anyway. I’m a UX director for a wellness start-up.”
His lip quirks up a little, and my hackles go up.
“What?”
“Nothing. You said your mom wasn’t impressed with your job. Being a UX director for a start-up sounds pretty impressive to me.”
“You’re not Marlowe Arden; nothing impresses her, least of all me.”
Owen studies me for a moment, but doesn’t press at my last comment. “So your mom is Marlowe, and your dad?”
“Salvator, but everyone calls him Big Sal.”
“Big Sal? Should I be nervous?”
“Maybe a little?” I shrug, but Owen looks more than a little nervous. “He’s harmless. He’ll hardly talk to us, anyway.”
“Do you have any siblings?” Owen asks. He shifts his body to face me, bringing our knees only inches apart.
“An older brother, Spenser. But he wants nothing to do with my dad’s restaurant chains or, honestly, my parents at all, so that’s why they are so hell-bent on marrying me off to Peter. Spenser lives in Puerto Escondido and teaches surfing to tourists.”
“But your parents don’t find your job impressive?”
I press my lips together, unsure how to explain my family’s complicated dynamic. “Okay, but how did we go from meeting in a bar to being engaged, especially if you don’t live here?”
“Well,” he scrunches his nose in concentration. “I’m in San Francisco a lot for work. Maybe I started coming more often to see you.” The faint flush that appears on his cheeks is so…sweet that I find myself leaning slightly closer before I catch myself.
“Let’s just keep it simple,” I say, clearing my throat and easing back.
“You were in town on an extended work trip, and we met at a bar. We ended up seeing a lot of each other after that. It just felt easy. A few weeks later, you took me on a picnic at Ocean Beach, my favorite beach, and…you asked. And I said yes.”
“That’s it? That’s all I did to woo you?”
“It will be fine. Marlowe and Sal won’t talk to us long enough to get any more backstory.”
Just then, Andy comes through the gate with three enormous dogs, all pulling and lunging in different directions. Andy looks completely unbothered by her charges’ energy, but her eyes go wide when she sees Owen and me with our coffee cups.
“Um, Ladybug?” she says, shifting the leashes to her other hand. “I forgot my phone inside. Can you help me find it?” She thrusts the trio of leashes towards Owen. “Can you hold the boys for me?”
“Um…sure?” Owen sounds unsure but takes the massive dogs’ leather leads.
“Andy?” I ask, but she grabs my elbow and steers me toward the building.
“We’ll just be a minute!” she calls over her shoulder before pushing me through the front door.
“I know for a fact your phone is permanently attached to your palm,” I say the minute Andy closes our apartment door, “so what do you need to say?”
“Uh…what’s going on out there, Liberty Bell?” Andy asks, lacing her fingers together under her chin.
“What do you mean?”
“You appear to be having coffee with a man in our garden. An extremely hot man at that. The same man I saw in our lobby over thirty-six minutes ago when I left to pick up the boys. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this now qualifies as your longest relationship in at least a year.”
“Andy!” I scold, but she’s not wrong. “RootDown has taken up a lot of my time. Owen is just a guy I met, and he agreed to pretend we’re engaged for my mother’s gala tonight.”
“Hum…” Andy twirls her ponytail. “Why not just say he’s a guy you met…why fake date? Why not take him to the gala as your real date?”
“Because I just met him.”
“Oh right, that makes sense…” Andy says sarcastically.
“My mom thinks she’s going to convince me to marry Peter tonight.”
“Your dad’s fish sticks have a better personality than that dude,” Andy agrees.
“Exactly. So this just feels cleaner. A clear agreement, no messy feelings.”
“Lily Pad, I know that asshole Isaac messed you up, but feelings are not the enemy here, no matter how emotionally undermining he was.”
“It wasn’t…” I stop myself before finishing with that bad, because it was.
My ex, Isaac, had a talent for pointing out all my flaws—sometimes subtle, sometimes not—and then acting like I should thank him for sticking around.
Like I was supposed to be grateful he was willing to ‘fix’ me every time I fell short.
But in the end, even he decided I was too high-maintenance to fix.
“This is not about him,” I dismiss her concern. “This is about getting my mother off my back for a night.”
“Maybe, but fake dating a guy who clearly makes your stomach do that fluttery thing—that’s a move made by someone who’s scared to let herself have a good time.”
“He does not make my stomach do…whatever…anything. It’s fake. That’s all we agreed to. That’s all I want.” Andy didn’t respond. She just gave me a stupid, knowing look. “Now go get your dogs back from my fake fiancé.”
“Just be sure I’m on the guest list for your fake wedding,” Andy says, pulling me into a tight hug, her bubble gum scent filling the air between us. “You’re allowed to enjoy this, Liv, even if it’s a little messy.”