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"I thought you’d agree with me," Cassidy smiles. "It’s exactly how your marketing model works.” “You are the same person who called weddings the commercialization of love,” she reminds me.
“You sell people the dream of everlasting love through expensive venue bookings, designer dresses, diamonds, jewelry, food, music,” Cassidy rattles off a long list of expenses associated with love and it sounds just like something I might have said in the past, only this time it’s wrong.
It taints her sweetness.
Even so, she’s right. That is exactly how my marketing model works and even as she argues against it, she has fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
Without even knowing it, Cassidy has become living, walking proof that emotions and even love could be manufactured. She is the first step to making the process wholesale.
She sees it all so clearly one moment and then in the next it seems she’s completely blinded.
I feel a pang of guilt. Cassidy is so determined not to fall for any more tricks and gimmicks, and here I am running one that would inevitably break her heart. I have an end goal and it’s not her happily ever after.
This date we are on, every experience I carefully choose and every seemingly embarrassing confession I have allowed her to squeeze out of me up to this point has been part of the plan. I have to convince her that I really do like her, like her so much that I am going out of my way to be with her, spend time getting to know her. And it’s working.
Maybe working a little too well since I’m convinced I might actually like her. I enjoyed our stroll through the nursery and even now, sitting in a tiny bakery in the middle of suburban nowhere arguing about nothing in particular, I can't remember the last time I enjoyed anyone's company more.
"Then tell me," I say, my last attempt to convince her that even though things didn't always work out they did sometimes. "Why do you believe in love, but can’t believe in yourself?"
She needs to believe in something more than love, if not for her own sake, then for mine. She has no idea what plans I have for her and she doesn’t deserve it either. The playful con was starting to feel dirty, but I’m not willing to lose.
"Because we don't all need to be successful, but we do all need love. Even life couldn’t be that cruel," she laughs.
Her smile lights up our little corner of the coffee shop and I feel the need to hold her, protect her in this moment of unguarded sugary joy. I know I can’t and I want to change the subject, leave it alone, because the more she talks, the more I like her and the worse I feel about this whole bet. I have to keep up the facade I try too hard, and it ruins everything. The key is to keep it light, drag on the agreements and cut disagreements short.
I read that shared morals and values created bonds. It all seems so obvious until you have to simulate it. In reality, Cassidy and I are so different we might as well come from different planets, but still I like being around her. She’s beautiful in the kind of way that makes you look twice and she makes me laugh, which isn’t easy. She’s… effortlessly charming.
"I don't think we'll ever agree," I laugh.
I need to be successful. I need to win and for me love was unnecessary. I neither needed or wanted it.
We are opposites and yet when I'm with her I want to be wrong. Today's date went well, we spent the better part of the day together and she grew more comfortable with me. It was the perfect time to seal the deal with a kiss.
Physical intimacy is an important step and the timing has to be perfect. She’s open and responsive to me, shared her innermost thoughts. She’s ready.
We drive back to her apartment block full of sugar and cream, our tummies warm with sweet tea. Cassidy hums a few songs from my carefully chosen playlist and neither of us say anything more about love.
I climb out of the truck and help her out like I had done for most of the day. Holding her hand, I lead her up the stairs to the door.
The streets are empty, one or two people hurry past us on their way home or somewhere else. Under the light of the street lamp I watch her lips move as she speaks.
"I haven't had so much fun in a long time," she says. "Thank you."
I smile back and admit I haven't had such a great time in a while either. In fact, I can’t remember the last time a date went as well as this one.
She smiles at me. I smile back and we look at each other in companionable silence. It’s clear there’s something happening in the air between us. Both of us know it.
I try to delay it, she doesn't deserve this dirty trick. The guilt of manipulating her into falling in love with me only to break her heart becomes a heavier burden the more I get to know her.
I take another step closer to her. She doesn't move back, she just stands there looking at me as I tilt my head and slowly move in for a kiss. I lean closer into her and close my eyes… Then I stumble awkwardly.
She moved back? There’s another thing I can’t remember–a woman rejecting my advances.
"Goodnight, Ethan," she smiles then stands on her toes to give me a light peck on the cheek.
“Uh, goodnight,” I manage to respond, feeling wildly confused.
I drive home trying to remember every single detail of our date. Where did I go wrong? Why did she reject my kiss at the very last minute?
