“I guess I’m pretty stereotypical too. I love a good chick flick and probably read more romances than anything else. But I do likeSVU: Special Victims Unitand thriller books that are in the same vein. I guess that’s pretty ironic, seeing as how my life played out in the past year.” Lucy’s now looking away, trailing her finger down the condensation on her water glass.
Reaching forward, I gently extract her hand from the glass, and squeeze her fingers, hoping that my touch can bring her some comfort.
Lucy looks at me startled, but to my relief, it quickly eases into a genuine smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so serious.”
“No, it’s okay.” I hesitate a moment before barreling on to the question I really want to ask. “You don’t have to answer this, but has Weston contacted you at all?”
The unspoken end to my question is “after the kiss.”
The way the blush is spreading to Lucy’s cheeks, I know she’s thinking about it too.
“No, because of you. I hope that’s the end of him bugging me.” Lucy is looking down at her napkin.
I wish I hadn’t brought up Weston—he’s the last person I want Lucy thinking about during our first date. I just wanted her to feel safe. “If you ever need me, all you need to do is call. I’ll be there.” Even the mere thought of Lucy getting hurt makes it hard for me to breathe.
“Thank you, Jake. That means the world to me,” Lucy says softly.
Jesus, this woman. How could anyone harm a hair on head? She’s the most extraordinary person I've ever met. Then because I can’t hold in my words any longer, I blurt, “I really like you, Lucy. I’m not sure how you feel, but I had to tell you. I know this thing between us didn’t start off real, but it hasn’t felt fake to me for a while now.”
Lucy’s pauses for a moment, and my anxiety spikes. Now I’ve done it—I’ve ruined everything and she’s just going to leave. Why did I ever think I even had a chance with someone like Lucy? But these feelings refuse to stay pent up inside of me.
Then Lucy speaks, changing my life forever. “Maybe I didn’t know what I was doing when I recruited you to be my fakeboyfriend, but I’m really, really glad I did. I’m not used to taking risks, and this was a really safe way for me to take that leap. I really like you too, Jake.”
Oh my God, is Lucy saying what I think she’s saying? She actually has feelings for me too?
Then Lucy pauses, twisting a lock of hair around a finger. “But I can’t promise Weston won’t come back. I have baggage, and you know that probably better than anyone. You shouldn’t have to take that on.”
Lucy admitting she likes me back fills my lungs with helium; I feel like I can take on the entire world right now. And the possibility of having another run-in with Weston?
Barely a blip on my radar.
“There’s no shame in having a past—we all do. And Weston doesn’t scare me at all. But at the same time, I don’t want to be a rebound, Lucy. If you need more time, I’ll wait. You’re worth it.”
“You could never be just a rebound to me, Jake Whitlock. I wouldn't be able to stay away from you even if I tried,” Lucy murmurs.
I scoot my chair closer to her; any distance between us feels like too much. “Thank God, because that makes two of us.”
We both laugh, breaking the tension. My thigh is now pressing hers, but I still want more. If we were somewhere private, I’d trace her outline with my hands, touch every inch of her skin, and finally give in to the irresistible heat between us.
“Now that’s out of the way, what kind of sushi do you like?” Lucy asks playfully.
We grab a bottle of white wine to pair with the seafood and order a plate of nigiri and a couple of rolls, exactly what I would have ordered on my own. If she wasn’t my perfect woman before, she certainly is now.
How can it be possible to match in so many ways? From small things like food and music to bigger ones: the way we see the world, how we want to caretake those around us and show up for the people we care about. The importance of friends, the struggle with expectations from family. And don’t get me started on how she’s the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen.
Throughout the meal, we continue to have easy conversation. I’m buzzing from head to toe, and it’s not from the alcohol. Every moment I spend with Lucy is magic.
We spend two hours at dinner, but it seems like minutes. After I pay the bill for dinner, I ask Lucy if she wants to grab some gelato down the street, because I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.
“I will always say yes to ice cream,” Lucy says, grabbing my hand. “But let me treat you.”
“Fine. But I want my objection to be noted in the record.” I lace my fingers with hers, our hands easily winding together like we’ve done it a million times before, and we stroll to the gelato store.
Lucy selects the coffee toffee, and I pick the chocolate decadence gelato that contains bits of dark chocolate, brownie, and caramel. Everything about tonight is exactly like the ice cream—rich, sensuous, bursting with flavor and promise.
“What does that taste like?” Lucy asks.
I take a spoonful and lift it to her lips. “Here, try it.”
