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Chapter five

Naomi

Robbie’s hand comes to rest on the swell of my hip, his eyes smoldering intensely into mine.

We’re vacationing in Italy for a few days—the Amalfi Coast, to be exact.

With only a few days in between his international tour dates, we couldn’t resist the enticing pull of the Tyrrhenian Sea that laps onto the beach behind him.

The warm air adds an extra layer of heat to the sizzling chemistry sparking between us.

His other hand comes up to cradle my head as he tilts his own, bringing his mouth closer—

“Are you having a stroke or something?” Robbie’s real-life voice breaks me out of my daydream.

My brain takes a minute to catch up as I blink rapidly at him.

I’m pretty sure there’s a sheen of sweat on my skin, and I can practically feel where his hand was just burning warmth into my hip. Where in the world did that come from?

“Huh?” I manage to squeak out a bit shakily.

“You’re looking at me weird.” He runs a hand across the line of his jaw. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Sorry. No, you’re fine.” I take my sub sandwich from his hand and walk briskly back into my office before anyone else witnesses the flush on my cheeks.

That was incredibly weird.

He’s obviously spending way too much time in my house. Why else would I be having daydreams of him? Of Robbie—my scattered, commitment-phobic, drifter, not to mention very platonic, friend?

“Are you sure? ‘Cause a little notice before you hurl would be nice.” He follows closely behind, shutting my office door behind him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to aim for your lap.” I flash him my best cheeky smile as he sits in the chair opposite my desk.

“How’s the morning been?” he asks, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Anyone I need to intimidate?”

“It’s been pretty quiet, actually. I’ve spent most of the morning here in my office. Oh, my new credit cards finally came, though. I guess that’s good.”

“Any leads on identifying the robber?”

“Nope. From what I gather, I’m just one case out of many, so I probably won’t ever get closure. Which is a bummer, but what do you do? Anyway, I don’t want to focus on it anymore. How was your meeting at the bank?”

He shrugs. “Fine. I just needed to confirm my proof of residence in order to keep my account open.”

“You mean the residence you haven’t lived at for over a year?” I suck in a slow inhale before taking a bite of my sandwich, still trying to clear the mental effects of our fictional moment in Italy.

“Hey, it’s not my fault Toby moved Rachel in and didn’t want me crashing there anymore. I, for one, think I would have been a great third-wheel roommate. I’m not there enough to have an opinion about anything.”

“Yeah, but you leave your crap everywhere,” I point out.

“Ouch.” He feigns being insulted, clutching his chest.

“Isn’t this what I’m supposed to be doing? Being more forthcoming with my opinions?” I’m only half-joking.

His face falls. “Does that really bother you?”

I don’t have a chance to say no with my mouth full of food.

“It does, doesn’t it? Man, this trip home has been eye-opening to me. Your random self-help journey is shedding light on all my flaws. I don’t like what I’m seeing in myself,” he mutters.

I shrug, snickering to myself. “I accepted the way you are a long time ago, my friend. Stinky socks and all.”

He scowls, rolling his eyes playfully.

“Did I tell you Gabby’s mom called me this morning? I’m officially doing the cupcakes for her shower,” I tell him excitedly.

“Really? That’s awesome. Tell me you brought up payment.”

“She asked my price before I even thought to mention it.” I beam. I may not have been the enforcer on that part of the conversation, but I’m counting it as a win anyway. Anticipation prickles across my skin at the thought of actually having a baking client.

“Amazing. And I’ve had your cupcakes—I bet you’ll get even more orders after everyone at the shower tastes them.”

“Gosh, wouldn’t that be great? Maybe everything will snowball, and I’ll start a chain of bakeries all across Minnesota.

Or maybe Netflix will seek me out to be on one of their top-rated baking competition shows.

OH! Or maybe I’ll be recruited as the official pastry chef for The White House after the president tastes my lemon tart while here on the campaign trail for re-election. ”

He shakes his head in amusement. “Your brain is a scary place.”

“Tell me about it.” I pop the last bite of the sandwich in my mouth. “Okay, I have to get back to work.”

“Alright, I’ll take the hint,” he says, gathering our trash while he stands.

I follow him toward the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

“After you.” Robbie holds it open for me, but I immediately stop in my tracks to avoid a near-collision.

“Dad,” I sputter.

“Naomi.” My dad is standing just outside my office, and the sound of his cold voice alone makes my shoulders slump. “I thought I’d stop by to check on that project I asked you to complete.”

He’s referencing the thirty-page report that is due tomorrow—that he just gave to me this morning.

“Uh, I’m still working on it,” I tell him as confidently as I can, but I’m afraid it doesn’t come out as strong as I’d hoped. Robbie steps forward, closer to my side. I appreciate his presence, even without saying a word.

“I’ll need it by the end of the day today, even if you have to stay late to finish it, okay?” Dad demands, not even acknowledging the person by my side.

I can feel Robbie’s eyes burning into me, silently challenging me to push back, but I ignore him and nod in agreement anyway. “Dad, you remember Robbie?”

My dad lifts his chin in a show of authority and then slowly scans Robbie from head to toe. The unnerving look on his face makes my stomach turn. My dad prides himself on being intimidating—and I hate that he can do it to me so easily.

“Robbie,” he muses. “Hey, I remember you. Didn’t you take my daughter to a dance back in high school?”

“Sadie Hawkins,” Robbie replies confidently.

I’m jealous of his strong voice and solid stance.

How can he do that so effortlessly? I feel an urge to draw closer to him, as if I might be able to absorb some of his confidence if I get close enough.

Or maybe it’s to seek his comfort, I’m not quite sure.

“That’s right. That’s the one where she asked you, right?” My dad smirks.

Robbie nods, acknowledging the time we went to the senior dance as friends.

“But you never became an item, right?” My cheeks heat with a blush as my dad’s tone turns to one of amusement and ridicule. “Isn’t that the whole point? To ask the person you’re interested in?”

“No, we weren’t an item,” I say quietly, wondering how quickly I can get this conversation to end.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my coworkers’ heads turning our way.

I despise when he comments on my personal life, especially in front of my colleagues.

It makes me feel like I’m nothing more than his child here.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” my dad mutters not at all quietly, and this time I can feel Robbie’s arm brush mine as he protectively inches a little bit closer to me. Shame floods my entire body, embarrassed that I can’t stand up for myself in front of him.

“That never was one of your strengths, was it? Catching or keeping a guy?” My dad sneers.

Kill me now.

“No, we weren’t an item back then,” Robbie cuts in, further deepening my embarrassment. “But we are now.”

Wait, what?

My head whips to Robbie in the same amount of time it takes for my dad’s jaw to drop open an inch.

“I was an idiot back then,” Robbie continues confidently. “Couldn’t see what an absolutely phenomenal woman I had right in front of me. Thankfully, I smartened up and finally came to my senses.”

What is happening?

“Is that so?” My dad’s eyes narrow, flitting between us.

“Absolutely. And while it’s still relatively new, I already know that she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

” Robbie slips his arm around my shoulder, squeezing the top of my arm.

His warmth radiates against my side. Am I daydreaming again?

I really need to cut back on caffeine—these visions are getting way too real.

“Oh, well, uh…” I don’t think I’ve ever seen my dad caught off guard like this.

Obviously, this was the last thing he expected to hear—which makes two of us.

I pinch the skin of my forearm to make sure this is actually happening in the present moment, and then, to my relief, a coworker motions to speak to my dad.

“Well, your mother and I will have to host you two for dinner sometime soon, then. You know she’d love to meet whoever you’re dating.” My dad dips his head and looks between us once more, clearly still processing this new information.

I can’t say I blame him since I’m doing the same.

As soon as he turns the opposite direction, I push Robbie’s arm off me and pull him by his shirt back into my office.

“Uh, what was that?” I shut the door and bring both hands to my head.

“What?” He has the nerve to look innocent.

“Um, I'm sorry, but I’m going to need you to explain what you just said to my father.” I point aggressively at the door.

“That we’re dating,” he says nonchalantly, as if those aren’t the most ridiculous words I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.

“Still not following… Why would you do that?”

“He was being a jerk,” he says pointedly, his brows creasing with disgust.

“He’s always a jerk,” I point out. “And now you want to just pretend that we’re dating…so that he’s not a jerk?”

“Sure.” He shrugs, emphatically nodding his head, a bit of anger now fueling him along. “I know you’re aware of the way he speaks to you. It’s ridiculous, Naomi. You don’t deserve that.”

“Well, I know, but…” My voice trails off, any attempt to refute him falling flat.

“Think about it. You’re clearly on a quest to feel more confident setting boundaries, right?”

I nod, no actual words coming to my brain as he stares at me intently.

“And for whatever reason, I help you do that. You said so yourself. Well, how serious are you about it? Think of all the practice we could get in if we pretended to date—especially with your dad. I don’t mind being your support person when it comes to him.

In fact, I would love to put him in his place. ”

I put my hands on my hips, processing his proposition and everything that would come along with it.

“What if I don’t want to pretend to date you?”

“Come on, you would turn this down?” He waves a hand down the length of his body, a smirk lightening his mood.

“Easily. I have a reputation. And standards,” I retort with a mumble.

“Ouch.” He snickers. “Look, I couldn’t help but jump in when he was saying that crap to you. But if you’re not comfortable, we definitely don’t have to do this. No big deal either way.”

I sink into my desk chair and pinch the bridge of my nose while I contemplate. It really would be nice to have him around as my backup. His presence is soothing to me—that has already been made very clear.

“You realize this is never going to work, right? This whole tiny town knows that we’ve been friends forever. Not to mention that you’re rarely ever here. He’s never going to buy it,” I point out.

“I’ll come back after the Okoboji gig,” he offers.

“And then what?”

“We’ll parade around town together. I’ll go with you to dinner at your parents’ house if they want. I’ll make sure you’re standing up for yourself while you struggle to keep your hands off me.”

I roll my eyes and shake my head in amusement. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

Another shrug. “Let’s do it.”

The implications of what exactly this whole thing means run through my mind—the lengths we’d have to go to pull it off. I might be just as crazy as he is, because it isn’t entirely unappealing.

“I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try?” I say slowly.

He beams at me, making his way to the door. “Great. We’ll figure it all out later. I’ve gotta run. I’ll see you back at home…”—just before he closes the door, he sticks his head back in—“sweetie.”