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“Thank you, sugarplum, for coming to my rescue yet again,” I say to Oliver in a voice loud enough to carry around the entire office.
“No worries, my Lilly bean. No one gets to ask my girl out and get away with it.”
I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing out loud and squeeze Oliver once more, turning to gather up my things.
“OK, lover bug, let’s get going,” I shout, having fun now, playing the role of doting girlfriend to a tee.
“I’ll follow you wherever you go, honeybun,” Oliver yells back, grinning at me. When he is like this, it is hard to believe that some people think Oliver is a bit of a stick in the mud. The man has a fun sense of humour.
We hold hands as we march out the front door, only allowing ourselves to laugh once we get in Oliver’s car.
“You were brilliant in there, Ol!” I tell him once my laughter has died down a bit. “Now the word will spread that I have a big, tough boyfriend, and they will leave me alone.”
Oliver’s amusement dies a little at this. “You shouldn’t need a fake boyfriend to feel safe at work, Lil,” he tells me, serious now. “You should feel safe to just be at work.”
“I know. But this is a good temporary solution. And we now have some practice under our belts for the weekend!”
“True,” Oliver concedes, still looking unconvinced.
As Oliver drives to the local shopping mall, I smile at him. “However, if we are going to make this fake relationship work, you need to work on your terms of endearment. Honey bun? Really? No self-respecting woman would allow herself to be called that.”
Oliver shakes his head at me, laughing. “I will work on it.”
CHAPTER 21
Lilly
Once we get to the shopping mall, I take Oliver into the first dress store I see, hoping to get this part of the evening over and done with so we can get dinner and make our fake relationship plan. We step into what looks like a not-so-fancy, and therefore not-so-expensive, store, and I look around, trying to find something that catches my eye. Oliver, for his part, does not look bored, following close behind me and offering his opinion on any option I stop at.
With an arm full of potential outfits, I head to the fitting rooms, where I begin the laborious task of trying on dresses. This is the part of shopping that I hate the most. I struggle out of my fancy but oh-so-tight work outfit and try on option one: a fitted black dress. It has a classic silhouette, with a deep V neckline, that also hugs my hips and flares at the bottom, mermaid style. I have to take small steps, like a penguin as allowed by the design of the dress, and make my way out of the dressing room.
“What do you think?” I ask Oliver, gesturing to my dress with a flourish.
Oliver, who is sitting and scrolling through his phone, looks up and then stands. His eyes flare as he takes a step towards me. “Wow.”
“You think?” I ask, not sold on this dress, craning my head around and trying to see the back of the dress in the mirror. “It’s not too tight?”
Oliver swallows hard and shakes his head. “No, it’s just right.”
“Huh. Well, it’s not comfortable at all, and I won’t be able to sit, walk, or breathe in it all night, so I’m thinking no.” After small stepping it back to the dressing room, I take off dress number one and attempt to get into dress number two. This one is a deep-red colour with a fitted bodice and off-the-shoulder straps, similar to the dress Julia Roberts wears in Pretty Woman. I have difficulty with the zip, so I back out of the dressing room, saying, “Hey Ol, can you help me with the zip?”
When Oliver doesn’t reply, I look to see him in the mirror. He is standing behind me, staring at my bare back, hands in his pockets. Just staring.
“Ol?” I say again. “A little help?”
Oliver clears his throat, does the zip up, and stumbles as he backs away from me.
“What do we think of this one?” I ask now. “Revenge-y enough?”
Oliver looks at me with a small frown between his brows. “You look beautiful in this one too.”
His voice is almost sad as he says this, and he sighs, his shoulders slumped.
With mild curiosity, I ask, “Why do you sound unhappy about this?”
“I don’t think I thought this shopping excursion through very well,” he says, almost like he is talking to himself. “I didn’t think about what you would look like in all these dresses.”
Is Oliver maybe trying to tell me he is bored and has had enough of shopping without being rude? I decide to give him an out and cut our shopping trip short.
