Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19580 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 78(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
By 3:00 PM, my shift is officially over, but I'm still helping with the rush. Jane finally pushes me away from the counter at 3:15.
"Go," she says, nodding toward Elias, who's waiting patiently. "I've got this. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
I roll my eyes as I untie my apron. "That leaves a pretty wide margin."
She grins, shooing me away. "Exactly."
I lead Elias to the side door that leads to my apartment stairs, acutely aware of his presence behind me. The staircase is narrow, forcing him to walk close enough. My hands shake slightly as I unlock the door, then push it open.
"Sorry, it's so small," I tell him, stepping inside. My studio apartment suddenly seems even tinier with his large frame filling the doorway.
"It's great," he says, looking around. "Cozy."
I watch nervously as he takes in my space. The full bed pushed against the wall, the small desk under the window covered with papers, the overstuffed bookshelf. I spent an hour this morning tidying up, hiding the laundry pile, and washing the few dishes I had, but there's only so much you can do with 400 square feet.
He moves to the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines. "Stephen King, Grady Hendrix, Shirley Jackson ... serious horror collection."
"They're inspirations," I say, my palms already starting to sweat.
His eyes drift to my desk, where my manuscript pages are stacked neatly. "Is that your novel?"
"Yeah, but … can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee, though you probably don't want more coffee..."
"Water would be great."
I grab two glasses from the kitchen area, grateful for the moment to compose myself. When I turn back, he's sitting on my couch—really just my bed with throw pillows arranged to look couch-like. The sight of Elias sitting on my bed, even in its daytime configuration, sends heat racing through me.
There really is something wrong with me. I've been off-kilter since last night.
I hand him the water and sit beside him, leaving what I hope is a safe amount of space between us. With a soft smile, he pulls out his phone.
"I wanted to post the photo with you here. So you can see it first."
He shows me the screen. It's one of the images James took last night, but he's cropped it to just our faces. We're looking at each other, both smiling. My face isn't fully visible, just my profile, my smile, the way I'm looking up at him. It looks... so intimate, I almost believe it.
My heart clenches. God, what I'd do for this all to be real, but it's Elias we're talking about. In real life, however, a man like him will never ever be with a woman like me. Things like that only happen in fairy tales and romance movies.
"What do you think?" he asks, watching me closely.
"It's ... nice."
He types a single heart emoji, no caption, and looks at me again. "No backing out now."
"I'm not backing out."
He hits post, and we both stare at the screen as comments immediately start rolling in.
"Who is she???"
"OMG, are you dating someone???"
"Elias has a girlfriend!!!"
The weight of what we've just done settles over me. It's real now, or at least, everyone thinks it is.
Including Mia.
"So," he says, setting his phone down. "We should work on our story."
I nod, shifting slightly to face him better. "Right. The backstory."
"How did we reconnect?" he asks, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. His fingers are inches from my shoulder.
"Through James, obviously."
"And we hit it off immediately. Couldn't stop talking."
"Exchanged numbers."
"Been texting constantly since then."
"You asked me out..." I trail off, realizing I'm enjoying this fictional scenario a bit too much.
"The next day. I couldn't wait, so I took you to that little Italian place, Nonna's."
I laugh. "Very romantic."
His voice drops slightly, and my stomach flips. "I'm a romantic guy."
"And how long have we been dating?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
"Not long, but we know it's the real deal. I mean, I'm known to be pretty private, so that single post tells them all about how serious this is."
We continue crafting our fake relationship history, adding details about imaginary dates and inside jokes. I find myself laughing more than I have in months. It's dangerously easy to forget this is all fake.
As we talk, I become increasingly aware of how close we're sitting. The space between us has somehow shrunk. His hand now rests on the couch just beside my leg, close enough that if I shifted slightly, we'd be touching.
"We should practice being comfortable with each other," he says. "People will expect us to act naturally. Casual touches. And I'm a really touchy person."
My pulse pounds in my temples. "Right. That makes sense."
He reaches out slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brush my cheek, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I freeze, unable to breathe.