Page 31 of Olivia’s Only Pretending (Sweet River #3)

Twenty-Two

“ I think something that I noticed is how often we get an FMC that is really doubtful and questions not only the obviously amazing hero, but also themselves ,” said one of our book club members, Tamara.

She was also an English major. “Like, I relate , but also, I want to throw my book across the room sometimes!” She huffed and blew a little strand of brown hair out of her face.

“I wanted to shake the character and say, grow up and go get your man !” another student exclaimed.

“I’m fairly grown up, at twenty-nine, and I hate to say it, but doubts and questions will always be there. You don’t grow out of those,” I said. “Hopefully, over the years, we get better and better at handling them, though, instead of letting them take over.”

“And I feel like …” Our conversation about our latest book kept bubbling, but my mind lingered on the doubtful main character.

How fear and doubt always popped up, but it was no match for what was meant for you. What was destined for you had a way of persisting like waves crashing to shore. God created a current that kept pulling you closer and closer to what was meant for you.

Because as daunting as creating a new class around romance novels felt, here I was sitting in the middle of a campus romance book club. I even had students showing up at my office hours to discuss things I was desperate to bring into the classroom.

And as terrifying as it was to admit everything I felt for Victor, I was still drawn to him. Never terrified enough to run away.

The two of us were unable to resist the pull of the current—the pull to each other.

Even in the midst of my hesitation and doubts, what was meant for me kept rolling in like a wave to my feet, until I was brave enough to reach for what I really wanted .

Could I ever muster up the courage?

“Guys, what would you think if some of these books weren’t only book club picks anymore? What if they became assigned reading?” I asked, watching them perk up. “Would that take the fun out of it? What would you think?”

“Are you kidding?” Tamara said, eyes wide. “That’s the dream!”

I left book club on a bravery high. I felt like I’d finally dipped my toes into the salty, foamy sea and realized it felt good. I plopped down in my office chair and gave it a spin. My phone buzzed, and my mind thought, Victor .

It wasn’t him.

So, I clicked over to our text thread and typed up a message.

Me

you know, there are some great benefits to being your pretend gf

Victor

go on

Me

for starters, being Watson’s dog mom

and care packages when I’m cramping

you’re a top-notch dinner date

but, really…it’s how you push me in the right direction. The right direction for me. you encouraged me to remember WHY I’m doing this job—and it really inspired me today.

so, thank you to the best pretend bf ever

Victor

if you think being my pretend gf is good, imagine being my real gf

My face felt hot. I pulled on my cardigan to let in some cool air while I waited for his reply, watching as three dots pulsed in our thread.

My phone buzzed. Victor’s name lit up the screen—an incoming call, not a text message.

I stared at it like it might combust.

After a moment, I picked up the phone with sweaty hands. “Hey?” I said, out of breath as I sprinted to my office door to slam it shut to Sonny’s prying eyes.

“I want to ask you something, and I thought it deserved a phone call, not just a text.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to sound calm, even as my heart thudded in my chest.

“You just sent me all those messages about how much you like being my fake girlfriend, right?”

“Right?”

“Well, I think it’s time I show you what it would be like to be my real girlfriend. Can I take you on a real date?”

I shot up from my desk chair, sending it rolling backward. A real date?

A thousand tiny doubts prickled at the back of my mind.

But then I thought about last night’s talk with Gracie and standing in Victor’s garage, realizing he might be the steadiest thing in my life.

Who was I kidding right now? Yes, I wanted to go on a date with Victor. I wanted to kiss Victor. I wanted to call Victor freaking Hernandez mine .

I was so tired of pretending that we were just pretending.

“Yes, I really do,” I breathed.

“Are we finally doing this?”

My chest buzzed. “I think it’s about time.”

“Olivia Rhodes is my date tonight?” he said, his voice striking a tone of awe as if he were meeting an idol tonight and not a tiny red-haired history professor. “Hmmm, so I get to show you what it’s like being my girlfriend.”

Hot, rough memories of his fingertips on my waist, his lips pressing into mine, flooded my mind. “With ground rules,” I blurted out.

“Give ’em to me, Rhodes,” he said without missing a beat, as if this was to be expected. I mean, the man knew me well.

“No kissing,” I said quickly. Because, somehow, his lips had become my biggest weakness. I needed my wits about me tonight.

“Well, okay.” He cleared his throat. “There goes the first thing on my list.”

I bit my lip, grinning so wide I could barely stand it.

“What else is on this list?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said. “That’s part of the fun of being my real girlfriend, by the way. I’m full of surprises.”

“That comes with being your best friend, too, you know.”

M y workday dragged by slowly, like a long plane ride. Could I just get home yet? Five minutes before my workday ended, while I was packing up my tote bag, Victor sent a photo.

It was the top of a legal pad, just the top line showing. It said in messy handwriting I’d recognize anywhere:

1: Meet me at the Sweet River Market.

I threw the tote over my shoulder and called him as I locked my office door, with my phone cradled between my shoulder and ear.

“Yes?” he answered, all business.

“What should I wear tonight?” I half whispered, rushing down the hallway, passing open office doors.

“Oh,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “This is a powerful position to be in. I have a lot of ideas, actually. Not sure how practi?—”

“Victor, stop.” I snorted. “It’s you, so I’m assuming jeans and a T-shirt or something.”

“Yeah, that’ll do.” I could imagine him grinning into the phone, his brown eyes twinkling.

I wore jeans, a loose long-sleeve white top, and my favorite worn-in brown boots. I did my makeup with crimson lip stain and the perfume Victor always told me made me smell delicious.

The Sweet River Market was tucked into one of the downtown buildings, on the street corner. It was small, but it had everything you might need, from fresh produce to laundry detergent. When I walked in, big orange pumpkins lined the entrance, sitting on stacks of hay.

I found Victor browsing the market aisles, casually pushing along a shopping cart like this wasn’t a big deal. Like we weren’t about to go on our first real date.

I tapped on his shoulder, and when he turned, an immediate smile spread across his face.

“There’s my date,” he said, his voice nearly giddy.

I felt giddy, too.

I peeked over his shoulder into the cart. A loaf of sliced sourdough bread, grapes, and a pack of peppered salamis. I raised a brow. “This is looking promising.”

“I thought I’d let the grilled cheese master decide on the cheese selections.” He gestured toward the other end of the store.

I led us toward the fancy cheeses, walking side by side, our arms not quite brushing. The air between us felt more electric than ever before.

I grabbed a wheel of brie and a block of smoked cheddar and dropped them into the basket. I added a case of nutty crackers and tossed that into the basket. “These are my favorite.”

“See, I need your expertise. I’d have just grabbed some Triscuits and called it a day,” Victor said, stepping closer.

Our fingers collided on the box as he reached for it. We exchanged a loaded glance.

“I’d have loved the Triscuits, too,” I said, swallowing. I’d have loved anything he chose.

We grinned at each other, standing there in the middle of the market. His eyes were intent on me, like I was something he was finally letting himself want.

After a beat, I cleared my throat. “So, what’s next?”

“Next, I need your expertise on the wine selection.” He leaned his forearms on the shopping cart as he rolled it through the aisles.

Victor disappeared while I perused the wines, torn between two different red blends. I held both up—one bolder, one smoother. I chewed on my lip, glancing around for Victor, wanting to ask his advice.

A moment later, he reappeared behind me. “Where’d you disappear to?” I asked.

He dropped something in the shopping basket. His cheeks flushed. “I might’ve called ahead to the florist across the street, and she just called to tell me these were ready.”

My eyes fell to a bouquet he’d set carefully on top of the groceries. Big and beautiful. Burgundy dahlias, golden sunflowers, and toffee-colored roses.

I scooped it up, eyes wide in wonder. “You chose these?”

He shrugged bashfully. “Kacey helped.”

“They’re perfect,” I said, my voice quiet.

My fingers brushed the petals. I’d never realized toffee roses were my favorite until right then, when Victor gave them to me.

The moment hung between us, like it was important. This was the start of something.

The delicate, sweet, honeyed scents of the flowers tickled my nose. The fluorescent light blinked overhead.

Our fingers brushed as I lowered the bouquet back into the cart. “How’s the date going so far?” he asked.

“I have a cart full of good food and beautiful flowers, so I’d say it’s going well,” I said. “Though my date isn’t very sneaky.”

“I should’ve been slyer, huh. Left them in my truck?” He snapped his fingers. “I’m never sly.”

“I don’t like a sly date, anyway,” I said as I grabbed the bottle of wine with the coolest label and dropped it in the cart. “Let’s check out.”

W e drove down the backroads that led toward the Hernandez property, the truck bumping along. Kacey Musgraves crooned through the speakers. I rolled my window down, letting the moody Texas fall weather dance through my hair.