Page 16 of The Break-Up Pact

For the first time in a long time, I go to the back kitchen, sit down with my ingredients, and scheme.

Chapter Seven

Fake dating, it turns out, is a scam of a trope, because the effort of getting ready for the date part is still very real. So is the part where I confront the realization that I haven’t been on a legitimate date in my entire adult life. It’s been so long since I’ve had a reason to blow out my hair or put on makeup that it almost feels like I’m getting dressed up for Halloween in what might just be my weirdest costume yet: June Hart, fake girlfriend of Levi Shaw.

Eventually, I settle on a pale blue floral tank dress that’s just classy enough for our museum outing but casual enough to exude some “gee, I had no idea someone would be here taking candid photos of me and my new beau!” energy, then head down to Tea Tide’s tiny parking lot to meet Levi.

He’s already waiting with his back turned to the door in a pair of jeans and another breezy button-down, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. I catch a whiff of fresh shampoo, his hair dark and tousled from the shower. His eyes are buried in his phone, but he starts to turn when he hears my footsteps.

There’s a wet curl springing up on the back of his head. I reach up and press it down with my thumb, and Levi goes still under the slight pressure, his eyes widening slightly and catching mine. Catching, and then lingering—on the swoop of my hair, the neckline of my dress, the cinched waist above the flowing skirt.

I pull my hand back. Thanks to the massive influx of customers these past few days, I haven’t slept in so long that my brain-to-touching-Levi’s-hair connection must be on the fritz. It’s either that, or the amount of time we’ve been spending in each other’s orbits lately. Now that the front of Tea Tide is a circus again, Levi has taken to writing in the back of the shop. And maybe sighing deeply at his laptop and watching the ovens with the thousand-yard stare of a zombie is part of the artistic process, but it sure seems like we’ve been saying words out loud more often than he’s been typing any.

I clear my throat and let out a merry “Good morning, cupcake.”

Levi blinks, then seems to remember the delightfully chaotic email Sana sent us regarding the plan for today, including a PS about thoughts on nicknames??? could be cuuuuute.

“Oh, absolutely not,” he says.

“Stud muffin?” I try.

Levi’s shaking his head with the beginnings of an exasperated smile. “I take back what we said about rules. I draw the line at dessert-based nicknames.”

I raise a finger. “Sugarplum.”

“We’ll workshop it. In the meantime, please tell me what exactly you think this is,” he says, his face registering faint alarm as I unlock my bright green Volkswagen bug convertible.

I pat the windshield before opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. “This is Bugaboo.”

Levi tentatively opens the passenger door, the pretzels himself in, his knees pressed against the glove box. “This is a clown car.”

“What the car lacks in space, it makes up for in free food.”

I pull it out then—the result of an entire night’s worth of scone scheming, and a few evenings’ worth of test batches to make sure I got it just right. It’s not my first time coming up with the idea for an elaborately themed scone, but it is the first time I was the one responsible for actually bringing it to life. The back kitchen of Tea Tide looks like a caramel Rorschach test right about now.

Levi gives a little shudder. “Ah, sorry. I just thought I heard several hundred dentists crying in the distance,” he says, eyes grazing the scone. “What did you put in that?”

My lips curl as I set it back in its bag. “Dark chocolate chunks, smoky burnt caramel, and plenty of sea salt.”

“Since when do you like dark chocolate?”

I feel my cheeks warm as I back the car out of the lot. Note to self: I am apparently now so single that the idea of a man remembering my milk chocolate preferences after a decade will make me blush.

“I’m committing to the bit,” I explain. “I wanted to make something that tasted vengeful and delicious. I’m calling it the Revenge Ex.”

If I’m not mistaken, Levi actually looks impressed. “Look at you, exploiting our situation for capitalistic gain.”

“Yes, how very New York of me. Watch your back, I’m coming for your job next.”

“Are you going to post about it?” he asks. “I feel like I haven’t seen any new scones on Tea Tide’s Instagram in a while.”

We’re about to turn onto the main road, so the next beat of quiet doesn’t give me away. I haven’t decided exactly what I’m doing with this scone yet. It’s the first “special” scone I’ve even dreamed up since I was dreaming them up for Annie, let alone the first one I’ve ever made myself.

It’s another unexpected hurdle to cross. Just one more thing I never imagined myself doing without her. One more thing that started out as ours and feels strange to start back up alone—like either way, I lose. Either I miss her for every part of it, or I hate myself a little for enjoying it without her.

I’ve just pulled the car out when that last bit of Levi’s question sinks in. “Wait. You’re on Instagram?”

Levi shakes his head. “Just check up on people sometimes. In your case, mostly to make sure you hadn’t gotten lost in a volcano or eaten by a monstrous fish.”

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