Chapter 16 #3
I back up to give her space, then follow and shut the door behind us. She sits in the wingback chair, so I sit on the edge of the bed and take a beat to figure out how to fix this. Seeing her there makes me wonder if she slept in it, but now isn’t the time to ask.
“Roland’s an asshole,” I blurt. “He thinks all men—”
“You don’t have to explain, Alex,” she says primly. “You made it clear yesterday that you date sophisticated women. Besides, we’re not really dating. This is pretend. You get to sleep in a bed, and I get the Christmas I always dreamed of.”
She makes it sound so reasonable, and that’s what we agreed to, yet it doesn’t feel right, and I don’t know why.
Maybe it’s the red Christmas sweater she’s wearing, with a snowman with an orange puffball nose.
Maybe it’s the smudge of flour on her cheek that makes me want to reach out and brush it away.
It kills me to think I might have hurt her more than I already have.
“My plan was not to bring you here and coerce you into bed,” I say, leaning forward, forearms braced on my thighs. “You have to believe me.”
She studies me for a moment, then says simply, “I believe you.”
The certainty in her tone catches me off guard. “You do?”
“It would be unbelievably stupid to sleep with me in your parents’ house, especially this early in the trip,” she says dryly.
“And besides, if you were trying to coerce me, you could have put in a lot more effort last night. You didn’t.
You were a perfect gentleman.” She gives me a tight smile.
“So, yes, I believe that you never intended to try anything.” She rises to her feet. “So now that that’s cleared up—”
“Wait,” Panic flares, though I can’t explain why. She just told me she believes me, and she seems to mean it. So why do I feel like the floor’s dropping out from under me?
Your behavior last night, moron.
“Wait,” I repeat, calmer. “Just one more thing.”
She nods then sits down again, folding her hands on her knees. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course,” I say probably a little too eagerly. “Anything.”
She exhales, starts, then stops. “This is more than a little embarrassing.”
“Is it about last night?” I ask with a grimace.
Surprise flickers across her face before she presses on. “Look, we both know I’m not the type of girl you date. Maybe if you’d had more time, you could have found someone who fits your…profile.”
My nausea is back. “Finley, I was out of line—”
“It’s okay,” she says quickly, too quickly, though maybe it’s my paranoia. “I wasn’t applying to be your real girlfriend, and we just confirmed a few seconds ago that we’re both getting what we want out of the deal.”
I nod slowly, but the sick feeling in my stomach doesn’t ease.
“When you were just a customer at Beans to Go…”
Her voice trails off, and I want to say something—anything—to make this less awkward for her, but I’m the one who caused the awkwardness, and I don’t know how to fix it.
“When you were a customer,” she says again with a tight smile, “we got along pretty well, right? You seemed to like me as a person.”
“Yeah. I did.” The understatement feels ridiculous. It’s like calling the Mississippi River a stream. “I do.”
She nods, looks away, then glances back to me.
“So maybe we can just agree to be friends. No expectations of anything else. That way you don’t have to worry about me getting the wrong idea, and I can relax and not worry you’ll try to seduce me.
We have to pretend to be involved, so this way we acknowledge it’s pretend and not read anything into it. ”
It takes me a beat to process her words. She’s simply restating our agreement—our legal contract—so why does it feel so disconcerting to agree with her? I have to, though. This is what she needs, and it’s what I wanted too.
“Yes,” I say. “I think that’s a good idea. But I’ll be honest—I’d like to think we’re actually friends, even with just the coffee shop interactions. I don’t need to pretend I like you, because I already do.” Then I hastily add. “As a friend.”
Her face softens into a small smile. “You didn’t need to add the ‘as a friend.’ That’s a given at this point.”
We sit in a short silence before she says, “You said you wanted to talk about something else?”
“Yeah.” I run a hand over my head, unsettled in a way I can’t remember feeling around a woman. “I wanted to say I’m sorry about last night,” I grimace. “Understatement. I’m sorry for coming in drunk. You were more than kind to help me, especially cleaning up my knee.”
Something flickers in her eyes. “You remember that, huh?”
“It’s a bit fuzzy, but yeah.” I gesture to the bowl still on the nightstand. “You even found the barf bowl.”
She laughs, a genuine one, even if it’s a little reserved. “You have a barf bowl?”
“No one wanted Mom using a bowl someone puked in for food, so yeah. We had a designated bowl.”
“I found it in the pantry. Lucky guess.” She hesitates, then says, “I accept your apology. So, if there’s nothing else…” She rises, already turning toward the door.
I stand too. “Finley, one more thing.”
She pauses.
“Where did you sleep last night?”
Her shoulders ease. “I slept in the chair, which was actually more comfortable than I expected.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
“It’s fine,” she says, not meeting my gaze. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not fine. It won’t happen again. I promise.” She doesn’t answer, and desperation edges my voice. “I don’t routinely get drunk, Finley. That was the first time in years, and it was a moment of weakness.”
She finally looks up at me. “I’m not judging you, Alex. For any of it.”
Then she bolts for the door and heads downstairs.