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I had spent the entire morning trying to work out how to ask Dylan to be my fake fiancé. Since overhearing his conversation with Ethan, I couldn’t stop thinking about enacting this daring ruse to fool my parents. If I could convince them I was engaged, surely they’d let me remain in Pebble Point and continue pursuing my art.
But how does one ask their handsome neighbor to enter into a pretend engagement? I couldn’t very well just knock on Dylan’s door and casually propose the idea over sandwiches. No, thisrequired finesse and tact. I needed to grasp the subject delicately and lay the groundwork before popping the question.
Should I invite him to dinner and broach the subject over wine? Take a moonlit stroll on the beach where I could segue romantically into the notion of matrimony. I nearly sliced my thumb as my thoughts drifted to how dreamy it would feel to walk hand-in-hand with Dylan in the sand.
Get it together, Avery! I scolded myself. You’re just pretending, remember? This is strictly business. Still, I couldn’t deny the butterflies taking flight in my stomach as I contemplated how to propose this most unorthodox of arrangements delicately.
Just thinking about it made my stomach knot with anxiety. I took a distracted bite of my sandwich, my eyes drifting to the window again. I nearly choked as I caught sight of Dylan jogging up the street. Even from a distance, I could see his athletic frame glistening with sweat, his chestnut hair tousled boyishly.
He stopped in front of his little blue house, grabbing the garden hose to rinse off. I watched, mesmerized, as he peeled off his shirt and began spraying himself down. Rivulets of water cascaded over his torso’s sculpted muscles, and I felt my cheeks grow hot. As I contemplated becoming a peeping Tom, Dylan glanced over and spotted me ogling him through the window.
His face broke into a mischievous grin, and he waved the hose teasingly in my direction. Mortified at being caught gawking, I ducked behind the curtains, my sandwich forgotten. What was happening to me? Since when did I moon over shirtless firefighters like a heroine in a cheesy romance novel? I leaned against the counter, fanning myself.
Get it together, Avery! I scolded myself. You don’t have time for ridiculous crushes. Not when your entire future hangs in the balance.
Still, as I forced myself to return to my lackluster sandwich, I couldn’t deny the somersaults my stomach was doing. I couldn’t be certain whether it was caused by anxiety over my impending deadline or the sight of my devastatingly handsome neighbor.
What I did know was that time was running out. If I wanted to prove I could make it as an artist, I needed to stop procrastinating and start painting. Today. My sandwich sat unfinished on the counter as I hurried to my studio, a woman on a mission. Still, despite my determination, a small part of me hoped Dylan would find his way into the painting taking shape in my mind’s eye. If not as the subject, then at least as my muse.
***
I stood at the bottom of the path leading to Dylan’s front door, gathering my courage. “Just go knock, Avery,” I muttered to myself. “It’s a simple request.”
Taking a deep breath, I walked resolutely up the path, raised my hand to knock on the door...then chickened out and spun around to head back home. What was I thinking, asking Dylan to pretend to be my fiancé? This plan was ridiculous!
I had only taken a few steps before returning to Dylan’s house. “Get it together,” I scolded myself. It was just a little white lie to buy me some time. And Dylan was always an adventure game.
Buoyed by a fresh wave of determination, I returned to the front door. My fist was poised to knock when nerves struck again. I lowered my hand, chewing my lip in hesitation.
“You got this, Avery,” I whispered, psyching myself up. The front door swung open just as I steeled my resolve once more.
There stood Dylan, an amused grin on his face. “I was wondering how long you were going to pace out there,” he said with a chuckle.
My cheeks flushed crimson as I realized he had witnessed my awkward display of indecision. So much for making a confident entrance.
“Oh, uh, hey, Dylan!” I stammered, flustered at being caught. “I was just, you know, coming to talk to you about something.”
Dylan leaned against the doorframe, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “By all means, come on in. I can’t wait to hear what had you doing laps up my front walk.”
His inviting tone was my cue to step forward, yet my feet remained anchored to the ground. I opened my mouth, but no sound emerged besides the thrumming of my heart.
I laughed self-consciously and stepped inside so much for my big dramatic ask - busted before I’d even knocked.
***
I stepped into Dylan’s pristine kitchen, my nerves making my hands shake almost as much as my voice. Get it together, Avery, I scolded myself. You can do this. Just tell him the truth.
Dylan gestured to the small kitchen table. “Have a seat. Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I sat down, fidgeting with my hands. Dylan’s broad shoulders flexed as he poured two mugs of coffee. I couldn’t help but notice how his t-shirt stretched across his muscular back.
He set a mug down before me, then sat across from me. I clutched the warm mug, gathering courage.
“So what’s up?” he asked, his green eyes meeting mine.
I took a deep breath. “I have a huge favor to ask you. And it’s totally crazy, but just hear me out.”
Dylan raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. The words started tumbling out. I told him about my family’s expectations, the dull internship in San Francisco, and the arrangedrelationship with the company owner’s son. His eyes widened at that part.
