I look down the list. “Saturday, there’s a breakfast, company picnic with various activities in the early afternoon, optional spa sessions, and dinner. How does that sound?”
“I would like to offer a proposition.” Having no idea what she is about to say, I nod for her to continue. “What if we skip the spa sessions so that I can have some time to get my reading for my class done?”
There is no reason to be dramatic other than the fact that I now have the incessant desire to annoy Ellie any chance I get, so I take an extra second to think about it before responding. “I am willing to accept your proposition.”
She grins while steepling her fingers. “Good, good.”
“Okay, it looks like Saturday night’s dinner has a dress code.” The print is small, so I have to squint to read it. “It’ssemi-formal. Do you have anything that could work for that? Fuck. I mean. God, I’m sorry. I don’t want to assume—”
Stumbling over my words is something that I rarely do, and on top of that, my face starts turning red.
Ellie lets out a snicker. “Oh, my. I’ve never seen you so flustered before! You’re kinda cute when you’re embarrassed—” She trails off, but her smile is so big it makes me think that she enjoys watching me suffer. “Yes, I have something that could workfor the occasion. Honestly though, it’s a fair assumption to make. Most of the time you see me, I’m seriously bumming it, but believe it or not, I do like dressing up from time to time. I don’t get much of a chance anymore, so that should be kinda fun.” I see a sparkle in her eyes like she’s looking forward to getting dolled up. “Anything on Sunday?”
“Sunday is just breakfast and check out at 11. I can get you home by 3?”
“That sounds perfect.”
“There is one last thing. When I told my receptionist you were coming, she asked two whole questions about you before I managed to change the subject, and I had no idea how to answer. Actually, the same thing happened at the happy hour when I was talking to some coworkers. So, I was wondering if you would be able to meet up at some point in the next week? We can learn some basic information about each other and get more comfortable? Just in case we’re caught alone at the company weekend. It would be embarrassing to be tripped up when someone asks what your last name is, and I don’t know what to say.”
“Oh yeah, that makes a lot of sense, and it’s Brooks by the way.”
“Ellie Brooks, nice to formally meet you.” Reaching out my hand to shake hers, she takes it, pretending to be business-y. There’s an intensity to our touch that reminds me of our kiss inside the bar. I feel embarrassed that my mind goes to a kiss just from a handshake, but now that I know how her lips taste, it takes everything in me not to act on those feelings again. “Patrick Murphy.”
She clears her throat and pulls her hand back, bringing me back to reality. “Uhhh, does Wednesday work for our mutual interrogation? It’s the only night I have free.”
Her voice is timid, and I’m left wondering if she felt what I just did. “Sure, I can do Wednesday. Pick a place, and I’ll meet you there.”
When Ellie leaves my office, I find myself even more distracted than I was this morning.
Chapter 12
Ellie
Therearejustovertwo weeks until ‘Greg's Super Fun Weekend Palooza’—that’s what I’ve been calling it in my head—and Patrick was right. We really don’t know anything about each other, at least anything that actually matters, and it didn’t take long for me to realize I was in over my head.
The second I walked into his office, the receptionist inadvertently messed with my confidence. When I said I was there to see Patrick, Debbie introduced herself and immediately wanted to know everything about our relationship. Until then, I was blissfully ignorant in my ‘fake-relationship’ bubble. I thought I could fake my way through with smiles and pleasantries, but that was so naive of me to think. Thankfully, she mostly asked me questions about myself, but there were a couple about him. She asked if I’ve met his family yet, and I pulled some bullshit response out about how our relationship is still new and how he hasn’t met my parents either.
Thank god for that.
I’d rather not expose Patrick to my mother unless it’s absolutely necessary.
I keep getting stuck in a repeating loop of thoughts: How are we supposed to fake date through a whole weekend withoutknowing anything about each other? How am I supposed to be the doting, perfect girlfriend if I can’t answer a simple question about him? There is a good chance that we might be separated at some point over the weekend, and what happens if the other can’t jump in to fill in the gaps?
Which is why I am getting ready to go out on a Wednesday night for a fake dinner date—even though I'd much rather be sitting alone in my apartment curled up on the couch reading. The only consolation is that this is not a real date, and I’m not trying to impress Patrick. If this was real, I would be freaking out, trying on different outfits, and obsessing over every single insecurity I’ve ever had. Thankfully, there is no need for nerves tonight. At least, there shouldn’t be.
Deciding that comfort is key, I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversized band t-shirt. We really should’ve thought about this lack of knowledge issue during our discussion of boundaries/rules, but who can blame us? Neither of us have fake dated before, so we’re just doing our best.
Well, I don’t know if Patrick has fake dated before…
I jot that down on my notes app below the forty-five other questions that I’ve compiled to learn the in’s and out’s of Patrick Murphy.
My Birkenstocks are comfy on my feet, and as I’m about to leave the apartment, I stare at the calendar Nick and I keep on the wall to keep up with each other’s busy schedule. He likes being overly dramatic, so there is a giant heart around tonight’s “dinner date with Patrick”.
Rolling my eyes, I head out the door.
We meet at my favorite Mexican restaurant that I’ve been going to since I was a kid. As I walk in, a tray of fajitas is carried past me, and the aroma of peppers and hot frying oil is pungent in the air. They have the best chips and salsa, and I knew I’d need something comforting since I am about to bare my soul to Patrick. Okay, maybe notbare my soul, but I’m sure there are going to be some deep questions. I consider myself a pretty open book, but only if people ask. And, I have a feeling he will ask.
Patrick walks through the front door, greeting the hostess with a kind smile. It gives me a flashback to the ‘before time’. That’s howweused to interact before all this. Pleasant acknowledgements and brief greetings created a mutual relationship of worker and customer. He scans the restaurant, and I know he spots me by the way his face lights up. I'm sure I’m just thinking too much into it, but he looks at me like he’s honestly happy to be here.
