This was supposed to be a fake date. A practice date. A warm-up round before the real thing. But sitting across from Josh, listening to his voice, watching the way he smiled a little when he talked about the world—this wasn’t practice. This was the thing I’d been trying to avoid.
Because talking to Josh? It was … nice.
Too nice.
And that was exactly what I didn’t want to admit.
Ever since Gina and I had moved into the apartment, we’d been bumping into people from the old days—faces from high school, college, the ones who’d drifted to the city like we had. It was strange and oddly comforting.
But Josh?
Josh was different.
He was the kind of familiar that made my chest ache in that low, quiet way you couldn’t quite explain. The kind of familiar that reminded me of how he used to be. And how everything had changed after the accident. How he vanished, leaving nothing but an empty room and a trail of stories that sounded more like myths than memories.
For a long time, I figured I’d never see him again. I’d pictured him settling down somewhere far away with a sun-kissed partner who spoke seven languages and wore linen without wrinkles. They’d raise brilliant, nomadic little children and drink espresso at three p.m. and make the rest of us look like we were stuck in slow motion.
But now he was here. He was sitting across from me like it was nothing. Like we hadn’t left things unsaid.
Maybe he had moved on. Maybe he didn’t even remember how humiliating that night had been for me.
Unfortunately, I still did.
Josh glanced back down at the menu, his brow furrowing slightly before he glanced up at me with a spark of amusement. “Did you pick this place?”
I shook my head.
“Gina,” we said at the same time.
We both looked around, taking in the tiny plates and elaborately described appetizers. I scanned the menu again, landing on something I couldn’t pronounce.
“Who names a dishbouchée à la reine?” I asked under my breath. “Sounds like a dare.”
Josh laughed. “I think it’s French foryou’re not getting full tonight.”
I smiled despite myself. And just like that, the weirdness thinned out. A little.
“Do you want to finish this drink and go somewhere else?” asked Josh.
My forehead creased, though he was already taking another long sip of his cheery drink until there was nothing but a final few drips sitting at the bottom.
“We really don’t have to go anywhere else. I’m happy to call it and head home to eat one of my microwavable noodle dinners really.”
That sounded sad, didn’t it? Certainly not what a normal girl would admit to and certainly not on a date, fake or not. But this wasn’t a date.
This was me. And this was Josh.
And we would never be on a date.
Ha! The hilarity of that.
I pushed a smile to make myself believe it even more and hoped that it sold my complete unperturbed-ness of how this evening had taken a turn from a girls’ night out with Gina.
“What? Why not?” he asked.
“Because,” I said. He waited for more. “You really don’t have to be here or keep doing this. It was supposed to be my pretend practice date, and I get that you are doing something nice for your sister when she called, but …”
“I’m nothing but dedicated to the cause,” he said seriously.
