Page 66 of The Great Dating Fake Off
Ro swipes tears off her cheeks. “Thanks guys. This could work. At the very least I’ll get a bouquet out of this. Right?”
“Yes,” I assure her. “As many bouquets as you want.”
The rubbernecking breakfast guests quickly lose interest when there’s no further fight to watch. No one is paying attention to us anymore. Alessia rushes off, no doubt to meet Eloise. Benji excuses himself to make a plate.
Sebastian and I follow Ro to her table. She drops into a chair next to Gia, who is sitting corpse still.
I take out my phone and open the Notes app. “Any preference on flowers, Ro?”
“Just no red roses. I don’t want my wedding to feel like The Bachelor.”
“You got it. And your absolute favorite?”
“I like whites and pinks. And any greenery for filler. Gia, you got my wedding credit card?”
Gia flinches as if Ro’s voice is way too loud before reaching into her cleavage.
“Maybe we crowdfund a purse for Gia?” Sebastian offers.
Ignoring this, Gia tosses the card my way.
“Don’t spend more than three thousand, please,” Ro requests.
Three thousand? My broke inner child just dropped dead from sticker shock. That would’ve been six months’ rent for our Oklahoma studio apartment.
Sighing, I turn to face the man I did not intend to spend more quality time with. Sebastian’s gaze is cryptic as he stares back at me.
How my morning plan of “doing whatever Benji wants” morphed into “holding my breath every time Sebastian so much as looks at me” is the eighth great wonder of my world. Emphasis on the wonder.
“Come on,” I say, resigned. “We need to get that girl some flowers.”
He nods. “I’ll take control of the GPS.”
Awkward or not, here we come.
Chapter Eighteen
Sebastian
Nora lets out a thoughtful hum as she turns down the music. “These tiny little thumbtack towns look like vintage postcards.”
“Sure.”
Not that I’m paying attention to the towns. I’m too distracted watching her drive. More specifically, watching for potholes, speed limit signs, deer gathered on the shoulders of the back country roads.
“If only they had actual flower shops,” she continues. “They’d be perfect.”
The first two towns we passed through didn’t have any, or even the kind of grocery stores that might carry small emergency arrangements for dudes who forget their wives’ birthdays, but if my maps app is to be trusted, the next town does.
As we pass a Welcome to Ladagalley sign, Nora pulls a Fast and the Furious maneuver and swerves off the cracked gray road to catch the entrance to a coffee shop. I grab the oh-shit bar and hold on for dear life. “Easy, killer.”
“What? I took the turn at five miles per hour.” She slows down to funnel into the drive-through line. “I need coffee.”
My body lights up like a firework in anticipation of caffeine. “Great. I want to be really alert so I can hear the rest of your chaotic playlist.”
She shoves my arm. “You sang along to half the songs. Mezza voce.”
“One does not hear ‘All Night Long’ or ‘Sweet Emotion’ and not sing along.”
