Page 68 of The Great Dating Fake Off
“One large triple espresso, plain!” I yell before forcing myself to drop back into my seat.
“Plain espresso, huh?” Her voice holds a determined edge, like she’s willing things to feel normal on the heels of that kiss. “You studied the menu for that long only to order it plain?”
I refasten my seatbelt. “Had to read the menu to be sure I wanted it plain.”
Or maybe I had to be in her space. Had to have my mouth on hers. I’m not sure what’s true anymore.
She leans an arm on the window to order hers. “One large oat milk cappuccino with brown sugar please.”
As soon as we leave the line, she turns up the music as if to thwart any potential conversations.
I turn it back down. “We need to talk.”
She lets out a panicked sound that’s almost feline. “Do we?”
My head feels like it’s turning in slow motion toward her. Never in my life have I met a woman who didn’t want to talk about things like this. She clutches the wheel until her knuckles are white, her jaw tight like she’s bracing for something.
It makes me wonder how many guys have kissed her and blew her off afterward. “I keep finding my mouth on yours, so yeah, that warrants a conversation. Preferably before I trip and fall and find my hands on you, too. What are your thoughts?”
Her exhale is sharp. “I don’t know. Friends kiss all the time, right?”
My eyes narrow. “They do? Are you regularly kissing Benji?”
She shudders. “God no! Never.”
“Then what friends are you kissing?”
“None of them. I don’t know why I said that, okay? I haven’t kissed anyone in a very long time.” She turns out of the coffee shop and immediately surpasses the speed limit. “I don’t know why I said that either. Unhear that, please.”
She’s blushing like she’s embarrassed, but all that does is confirm to me that every man in Long Island or wherever else she’s lived is a dumbass. “Nora—”
“We need to focus on flowers.” She grips the wheel tighter. “I’m trying to be a good friend to Benji and his family. You’re doing the same thing. Can we table this?”
“The kissing, or the talking about it?”
She takes a very long time to answer, and when she does, it’s just, “I don’t know, Seb.”
“Excellent. That makes two of us.” I lift my coffee from the center console, no closer to understanding what we’re doing here.
Many songs on her playlist later, the map on her phone leads us to Heart of Hudson Street. The buildings are weathered white brick, most with colorful scalloped awnings. Lights strung across the road create a fake ceiling to the cobblestone street.
I look up from the map on my phone. “Lily’s Lilies and More, up there on the right with the yellow door. Do you know how to parallel park?”
She cuts a look my way. “Why wouldn’t I be able to?”
And I found a new way to put my foot in my mouth, it seems. “Sorry. My bad. Of course you can.”
But she butchers her attempt, cursing under her breath until she gives up altogether and finds a spot down the block. One that allows her to pull in without parallel parking.
“All right, let’s fix Flower Gate, shall we?”
I nod. Obtaining flowers is a tangible objective. It gives me something to do with the excess energy coursing through me.
I usher Nora inside with a hand on the small of her back. Relief floods me as I clock the sheer amount of flowers on display. Pinks, purples, soft whites, and creams. Plenty to make Ro happy. “Jackpot.”
It smells like late spring in this place, with moisture in the air to match. A cluster of low-hanging wisteria dangles from a false lattice roof.
I plant my hands on my hips. “What do you want, boss?”
