Chapter 7
ADAM ANSWERS THE door in a crisp white T-shirt and grey tracksuit pants.
His dark blond hair stands on end like he’s been pulling at it.
‘What are you apologising for this time?’ he asks and runs a hand through his hair.
It does nothing to smooth it. As much as I don’t want to admit it, the messy hair makes him annoyingly attractive.
‘Nothing.’ I part my lips into a smile. A toothy grin is more contagious than a closed-lipped one, and if I can force him into smiling along with me, I have a slight chance this plan might work. ‘I just wanted to pop over and say hello.’
‘Um, hello,’ he says.
I shuffle closer and lean against the wall, trying to look casual. Like I do this all the time. ‘How’s life treating you, Adam?’
‘Fine.’
My toothy grin remains firmly in place. For all the good it’s doing me though. He’s looking at me like I’ve been transported here from another planet.
‘I’m in the middle of something, so…’ he trails off and starts to close the door.
I thrust my foot forward to stop the door shutting. ‘I have a favour to ask.’
The door taps against my ankle. ‘A favour?’
‘Just a small one.’ I hold up my thumb and index finger to emphasise how teeny the favour is. ‘I’d like you to come to dinner tonight,’ I say. ‘With me,’ I add in case that wasn’t clear, which, by the confusion creeping across his face, it might not have been.
Heart hammering, I take a shaky breath. ‘And my parents.’
He blinks. A painstakingly drawn-out, measured blink that feels as though it’s occurring in slow motion while his glorious lashes skim over that freckle beneath his eye. ‘Your parents?’ He frowns. ‘Why would I go to dinner with you and your parents?’
My shoulders tense and I try not to flinch. ‘Because I might have told them you were my boyfriend.’
His door is now fully open again and my fingers itch to slam it shut, scurry back across the hall, and pretend none of this ever happened. This is humiliating. Beyond humiliating. Worse than throwing-up-on-him humiliating.
He presses his shoulder against the door frame, crossing one bare foot over the other as he leans against it. He nails the casual I-do-this-all-the-time stance I tried, and failed, to pull off. ‘Why would you tell them that?’
‘Because your name was the first one that popped into my head.’
He raises his brows. ‘So, I’m on your mind?’
‘No,’ I splutter. ‘It was right after I gave you the cake. The first one,’ I add because there have been two apology cakes. ‘You still haven’t returned my plates, by the way.’
‘I assumed the plates were part of your partial apologies. Apologies that you later rescinded.’ He crosses his arms and I try not to stare at the biceps straining against his T-shirt. ‘So, we’ve been dating since I moved in? Two months?’
‘That’s when we made things official. Technically we’ve been dating longer than that,’ I mumble, tearing my eyes away from the freckles dotting his pale arms.
‘Well, that’s impossible. I’ve only been here two months.’
‘They don’t know that. Nor do they need to.
All they need to know is that we were seeing each other and two months ago we decided to make it official.
And you’ve been the perfect gentleman, by the way.
An ideal boyfriend. You love to play boardgames and watch old movies with me and we go on long walks together and talk about everything.
You love to recommend books to me. Rom-coms obviously because you know how much I love them. ’
His face scrunches up. ‘That all sounds awful.’
‘To you, maybe. But to perfect boyfriend Adam, it’s bliss.’
‘So, you want me to come to dinner with you and your parents and pretend that I am your perfect boyfriend?’
‘Yes.’ My chest warms, a sure-fire indicator that I’m breaking out in big red splotches. Yep, I’m a blusher. But not one of those blushers who gets a nice pink tinge to their cheeks that makes them look cute. I go red. In blotches. All over the face, all over the chest. I burn.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because I’m asking you nicely and you’re a decent human being.’ Maybe. The jury is still out on that one. But I have seen glimpses of decency. Last week he took a break from staring at his laptop to help a man with a walker get up from his table and saw him safely to the door.
‘My mum has made it her mission to see me in a relationship and she kept setting me up on these awful blind dates. I was on one the night I, you know,’ I say with a jerk of my chin at his feet.
‘Anyway. I needed a break from it all. So, I lied.’ To save my business, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He shakes his head, his lips quirking as though he’s trying not to laugh at my discomfort. I can only imagine what he thinks of me right now. Desperate, sad, pathetic. It doesn’t exactly make me great fake girlfriend material.
I squeeze my hands together. ‘It’s one dinner. A free dinner. You like food, right?’
‘I love food. And dinner. I eat dinner every day.’
‘Then please eat this one with me and my parents.’ I’m about five seconds away from all-out begging. I cartoonishly bat my lashes at him.
‘That won’t work on me.’
I throw my hands up in the air with a frustrated groan. ‘It’s just dinner. It’s not like I’m asking you to come on our holiday with us. Which, when they ask you about that, you can’t make because of work.’
‘Can’t you find some other guy to pretend to be me for the night?’
‘They know what you look like. Your photo is on the back of your books and my dad is maybe your biggest fan. He’s read everything you’ve written a bunch of times. And they’ve convinced everyone they know to buy your books so you can thank them for making you rich tonight.’
He grimaces.
‘Will you just do this? Two hours. Three tops.’
He stares at me and I’m now bordering on panic.
If he doesn’t come to dinner they’ll turn up here, knock on his door, and find out I’ve been lying this whole time.
My entire family, my perfect, ultra-successful family, will think I’m pathetic.
Poor Sabrina with her failing business, she’s so desperate that she lied about her successful neighbour being her boyfriend.
Although, in my defence, I didn’t know he was a bestselling author when I blurted out his name to Mum.
But when I did find out, I might’ve told Mum that he was the Adam Whittaker because I knew they’d all be impressed. Oh, I really am pathetic.
‘How long will we be in this relationship? Will I break up with you at some point?’
‘I’ll break up with you.’ At some point. In the distant future after A Cup of Joy becomes profitable and I’ve paid back the loan. Or found a boyfriend for real. Or at least until I’ve found a way to sell a kidney. Whichever comes first.
He snorts. ‘I don’t think so.’
I snort in return. ‘You’re not that great of a catch.’
‘I’m good enough to be your fake boyfriend.’
‘My regret over that knows no bounds.’
‘Then let’s break up.’
Feeling this slipping away from me, it’s time to play my final card. Appealing to his better nature failed, bribery is my only option. ‘I will give you anything you want. I’ll bake you a cake once a week.’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t like cake.’
‘What kind of person doesn’t like cake?’
‘My kind.’
‘Fine. I’ll feed your fish.’
‘I don’t have any fish,’ he says.
‘Well, I’ll buy you a fish and then feed it.’
He stares at me. Unblinking. Serious. Whereas I’m over here blinking non-stop and sweating.
I don’t dare raise my arms even an inch in case he sees the stains spreading on the armpits of my baby-blue blouse.
It’s supposed to scream serenity and peace, which Hattie thought would somehow entice him to say yes. Pit stains might negate that.
‘I want your parking spot at the cafe.’
‘What? No way.’ I can’t return to parking in the street and running out to move it every couple of hours. Or parking in that creepy parking lot two blocks away. I’ve seen things go down there that no one should ever have to witness.
‘That’s what I want.’
‘There has to be something else. I’ll, um, I’ll help you with your books.
Maybe I can type while you dictate. Or I can help you with research.
I’m great at researching. Ask any of my teachers from high school.
There wasn’t an assignment that I didn’t research the heck out of.
I’ll give you their names and you can call them. ’
‘I don’t need help with my books.’
‘Are you sure? What’s your sequel about? Maybe I’m an expert on something in it. Do you have a character that bakes? Or works in a boring office? Or makes up a fake boyfriend?’ I throw that last one in hoping he thinks it’s funny. He doesn’t.
‘I want the parking spot.’
‘Ooh, I know. We’re going to England for our family holiday. Set your book there and I’ll come back with so many notes for you that you’ll be drowning in ideas.’
His eyebrows shoot up and I lean forward, hopeful he’s going to accept the offer. But then he shakes his head. ‘It’s the parking spot or no deal.’
‘Fine.’ I force the word out and it immediately leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
‘We have a deal then.’ He holds his hand out, staring at me until I grab it. It’s warm, his palm solid and smooth as we shake on it and I can’t help but feel like I’ve just made a deal with the devil.