Seven
Dessert That Wasn’t On The Menu
MIA
THE SKY IS INK-BLACK by the time we step outside, the brisk country air hitting us like a slap. I tuck my coat tighter around me while Austin heads for the car. Mum and Dad hover by the front door, waving us off like we’re going on some epic voyage rather than a two-hour drive home.
“You sure you don’t want to stay? You don’t even have to stay in your old room?” Mum calls.
“No, we’re fine,” I say quickly, flashing a tight smile. “Thanks again for dinner.”
“Best roast I’ve had in ages!” Austin chimes, earning a delighted beam from Mum.
He reaches the car, fiddling with the keys as I give Mum and Dad one last wave. I hear the unmistakable sound of a groan—Austin’s, not the car’s.
“What now?” I mutter, walking over.
He’s crouched by the front wheel, his phone torch illuminating the unmistakable sag of a flat tyre.
Fuck.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, my voice tinged with desperation.
Austin stands, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Flat as a pancake. Let me grab the spare.”
A few moments later, the boot slams shut.
“No spare,” Austin announces, his tone grim.
“What do you mean, ‘no spare’?” I hiss.
He winces. “Foam kit, but . . .” He pauses, holding up the canister. “It expired two years ago.”
“Of course it did,” I mutter, dragging my hands down my face. “I thought this car was new?”
“No, it's used, but it's new to me,” Austin fires back, pulling out his phone, and tapping furiously before lifting it to his ear.
I exhale and pull the passenger door open. The car has to be warmer than standing out here.
I hear Austin’s muffled voice and another groan. He opens the door and peers in at me. “Rescue service can’t get here until morning. They’re backed up.”
Morning? Oh, hell, this day just keeps getting better.
“What’s wrong?” Mum’s voice floats over, followed by the shuffle of her slippers on the gravel.
Austin turns, flashing her a sheepish grin. “Flat tyre. No spare. Guess we’re stranded for the night.”
Mum’s face lights up, as if she’s just been handed a winning lottery ticket. “Oh, you must stay here then! We’ve got plenty of room.”
I open my mouth to object, but Mum’s already heading back toward the house, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll get the spare room ready!”
“Wait—” I start, but she’s gone.
Austin shrugs, looking far too amused. “Well, that settles it.”
I glare at him. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Right, because I always plan for flat tyres,” he says, deadpan. “Relax, Mia. It’s one night. How bad can it be?”
I groan, following him back to the house. Mum’s already bustling around upstairs, probably fluffing pillows and lighting scented candles.
“I hope you like floral bedspreads,” I mutter under my breath.
Austin leans in to me, smirking. “Can’t wait. Think your mum will tuck me in too?”
I jab him in the ribs, earning a low chuckle as we step back into the house.
Dad looks up from his armchair, newspaper in hand. “What’s going on?”
“Flat tyre,” Austin says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like we’ll be crashing here tonight, if that’s ok.”
“Of course!” Dad says, standing and clapping Austin on the shoulder. “You’re family now, son.”
I choke on air while Austin grins. The traitor.
Mum reappears, wiping her hands on her apron. “All ready. The big room at the end of the hall. It’s got an en suite. You’ll be comfortable there.”
Austin raises a brow. “Both of us?”
Mum waves a dismissive hand at him. “You’re engaged. It’s not the forties anymore, for heaven’s sake. I know you two kids aren’t waiting for marriage, if you know what I mean? ”
I want the floor to swallow me whole. Austin, however, looks delighted.
“Thanks, Mrs. Jameson,” he says smoothly.
“It’s Joan, dear,” Mum replies, patting his arm. “Now, can I get you anything? Tea? A nightcap?”
“I’m good, thank you,” he says, ever the gentleman.
I glare at him as we head upstairs. “If you so much as smirk—”
“Smirk?” he cuts in, the picture of innocence. “Never. I’m just here to enjoy the delights of floral bedspreads and country hospitality.”
I roll my eyes as we reach the room. Sure enough, the bed is covered in a pastel quilt, and the walls are adorned with framed pictures of flowers.
I slam the door shut behind us, leaning against it like I’m bracing for an intruder.
Austin saunters into the room, taking in the floral bedspread, and the armchair that looks like it belongs in an Agatha Christie novel. He whistles low, his hands on his hips.
“Cosy,” he says, grinning at me.
“It’s suffocating,” I snap, pushing off the door.
He flops onto the bed like he owns the place, arms behind his head. “Feels pretty comfy to me.”
I glare at him, marching over. “Get up.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re not sleeping there.”
He raises a brow, his expression equal parts amused and confused. “And where exactly am I supposed to sleep, then?”
I glance around, assessing my options. “The floor. Or the armchair. Or, if you’re feeling adventurous, the bath.”
“The bath?” He sits up, chuckling. “Seriously?”
“I’m not sharing a bed with you, Austin,” I say firmly, crossing my arms. “We’re not . . . that kind of engaged.”
He smirks, patting the space next to him on the bed. “Mia, it’s one night. We’re adults. I promise to keep my hands to myself. I’ll even wear clothes if it makes you feel better.”
I blink at him, caught off guard by the casual way he says it, like sleeping in the same bed is no big deal. Meanwhile, my brain is short-circuiting at the thought of him lying next to me.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “This bed is not big enough for the two of us.”
“It’s a queen,” he points out, stretching his long legs out. “Plenty of room. I won’t even cross the imaginary line down the middle, I swear.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little,” he admits, his grin widening.
I groan, running a hand through my hair. “Austin, this is already a nightmare. My parents think we’re madly in love and planning a wedding, and now you’re trying to add ‘sharing a bed’ to the list of lies?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Mia, it’s not a big deal. I promise not to snore, and if I do, you have permission to kick me.”
My lips twitch despite myself. “What if you roll over and crush me? You’re like six feet tall.”
He laughs, standing up and towering over me. “Fine. How about this? I’ll take the left side, you take the right. I’ll stay as far away as possible. I’ll even sleep in my shirt and jeans on top of the covers. Deal?”
I stare at him, torn between sticking to my guns and admitting defeat. The bath idea suddenly feels ridiculous, and I’m too tired to argue anymore.
“Fine, you can sleep under the covers.” I mutter, pointing a finger at him. “But if you cross that line, I swear I’ll—”
“Kick me,” he finishes, grinning. “Got it.”
I grab a pillow and chuck it at his head.
AFTER A FEW MINUTES of fumbling around the room, both of us trying to avoid eye contact, we settle into bed. True to his word, Austin is on the far-left side, his broad frame barely fitting on his half. I lie rigid on the right, the invisible line between us as thick as a brick wall.
The silence stretches out, only broken by the occasional creak of the old pipes and the faint rustling of the wind outside. I stare at the ceiling, trying not to think about the fact that Austin—the annoyingly charming, fake fiancé Austin—is lying mere inches away.
“Can’t sleep either, huh?” his voice breaks through the quiet, soft and low.
“Nope,” I mutter, refusing to look his way.
Suddenly, the bedside lamp turns on. “Is it me? Do you need me to move further away? I could balance on the edge if that helps.” His tone is light, but there’s a hint of genuine concern underneath.
I sigh, finally turning my head to look at him. “No, it’s not that. It’s just . . . everything. My parents. This whole fake engagement thing. Sharing a bed with you.”
He chuckles quietly, the sound warm and rich in the dim room. “Fair enough. It’s a lot.”
We lapse into silence again, but this time it feels different. Less awkward, more . . . expectant.
“So,” he says, his voice softer now, almost tentative. “You’ve got this whole family roast tradition thing down to a science. What else don’t I know about you, Mia?”
I glance at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we’ve been playing this engaged couple act, but I feel like I barely know you. What’s your story?”
I hesitate, not used to people asking me that. Not in a way that feels like they actually want to know. “There’s not much to tell, really. Just your average girl from the countryside who moved to the city to escape small-town gossip and chase a job in hairdressing. Thrilling, right?”
He shifts onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. “Come on, there’s got to be more to it than that. What made you want to escape?”
I bite my lip, unsure why I suddenly feel like opening up. But something about the way he’s looking at me—curious, but not pushy—makes it hard to hold back.
“It’s hard to explain,” I admit. “Growing up here was fine, but everyone knew everything about everyone. And they expected you to follow a certain path. Settle down, get married, have kids . . . all before you hit thirty. I wanted more than that. I wanted . . . freedom, I guess.”
He nods, his expression thoughtful. “I get that. I wanted freedom too, but in a different way. Growing up, it was all about expectations—school, sports, the family business. Architecture wasn’t exactly on my dad’s list of approved careers.”
“Really?” I ask, genuinely curious now.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. “He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, take over the company. But I couldn’t see myself doing it. I loved building things, designing, creating. So, I went against the grain.”
I study him for a moment, seeing past the charming smile and the easy confidence. “And now? Does he approve?”
Austin shrugs, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I think he’s proud, in his own way. But it’s not the path he would’ve chosen for me.”
For a moment, we just look at each other, the room quiet except for the sound of our breathing.
“Funny,” I say softly. “We’re pretending to be these perfect people with this perfect life, and yet we’re both just trying to figure it out, aren’t we?”
“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice low. “But maybe that’s what makes it work. The imperfections.”
My chest tightens at his words, and I quickly look away, focusing on the ceiling again.
“Ok,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Your turn. What’s something embarrassing from your past? Something that will make me feel less like a mess.”
Austin chuckles, and the sound eases the tension. “Alright. But only if you promise not to laugh too hard.”
“No promises,” I tease, glancing back at him.
Austin finishes recounting a story about getting locked out of his university digs wearing nothing but a towel, and I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts. “You’re kidding me,” I gasp, wiping tears from my eyes.
“Not even a little,” he grins, lying flat on his back now, one arm tucked behind his head. “The towel wasn’t even mine. It was my roommate’s—bright pink with cartoon cats all over it.”
I let out another giggle, shaking my head. “I can’t believe someone like you ever had an awkward phase.”
“Oh, trust me, I had my fair share,” he says, turning his head to look at me. His smile softens, and there’s something warm and unguarded in his eyes now. “What about you? Any embarrassing moments you want to share? Level the field?”
I smirk, lying back beside him and staring at the ceiling. “Before I owned Serenity, I worked at another salon, and I once accidentally replied all to an email. Thought I was just complaining about my boss to a friend. Turns out, I sent it to the entire company, including the said boss.”
His laugh is immediate and full-bodied, and it makes my cheeks flush. “Oh, that’s bad,” he says, shaking his head. “What happened?”
“Well, let’s just say my tea breaks were suddenly a lot quieter,” I admit, smiling despite myself.
We fall into a comfortable silence after that, the kind that feels natural rather than awkward. My heart is still light from laughter, but there’s an undercurrent of something else now. Something heavier.
“I like this,” Austin says suddenly, his voice quieter now.
I turn my head toward him. “Like what?”
“This,” he says, gesturing between us. “Talking. Laughing. Getting to know you.”
His words make my chest tighten, and I can’t tell if it’s in a good way or a bad way. “It’s just because we’re stuck here,” I say, my voice lighter than I feel. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” he asks, his gaze steady on mine.
I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes . . . there’s something in them I can’t quite name.
“Austin . . .” I start, but I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.
Before I can figure it out, he shifts closer, his arm brushing mine. The air between us feels charged, like the room has suddenly shrunk and there’s nowhere else to look but at him.
And then he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my cheek.
“I don’t know what this is, Mia,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “But I know I don’t want it to stop.”
My breath catches, and I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff, teetering dangerously close to falling. “This isn’t a good idea,” I whisper, even though every nerve in my body is screaming for the opposite.
“Probably not,” he agrees, his lips curving into a faint smile. “But it doesn’t feel wrong, does it?”
I can’t answer because his face is closer now, his eyes locked on mine. My heart is racing, and before I can overthink it, his mouth brushes mine.
The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like he’s giving me a chance to pull away. But I don’t. I couldn’t if I tried.
Instead, I lean into him, my hands finding their way to his shoulders as the kiss deepens. It’s slow and consuming, the kind of kiss that feels like it could go on forever. The complete opposite to our ‘practice kisses’.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, my head spinning.
“Well,” he says, his voice slightly husky, “that wasn’t in the script.”
I let out a shaky laugh, my cheeks burning. “Definitely not.”
As I lie there, looking into his eyes, I can’t shake the feeling that something is changing between us. Something I’m not sure I’m ready for.