Page 70 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
Instead, I hear myself say:
“Okay.”
Mary smiles.
“Perfect. And next time, try smiling a little more. You looked less constipated by the end of the evening.”
“I did not look constipated at any point.”
“You absolutely did. But it improved. Very encouraging progress.”
We reach her car. Mary stops and looks up at me, and something inside me reacts.
A part of myself I haven’t let exist in a very long time.
“Good night, Finn,” she says softly.
“Good night, Mary.”
She climbs into her car and drives away.
I stay standing there with my hands shoved into my pockets, watching her taillights disappear down the road while trying to process what the hell just happened.
Finally, I shake myself out of it and head for my own vehicle before driving to my cousin Nate’s place. I’d promised I’d stop by, but ironically enough, I almost want to cancel and go back to the guesthouse...
Back to Mary.
As I drive, I replay the evening in my head.
I spent two hours in a crowded pub pretending to get to know Mary McGregor.
Except I wasn’t pretending.
I learned things about her.
I genuinely listened to her.
I genuinely laughed.
I genuinely enjoyed being with her.
And that’s a problem.
Just as I pull into Nate’s driveway, my phone vibrates.
Mary
I think we pulled that off really well. Thanks for playing along.
I stare at the message for a long minute.
Then I type:
FINN
You’re welcome.
Since when do I agree so easily to spend time with someone? Since when do I smile in public?
