Page 6 of The Wrong Date Deal

Ford laughed, some of the tension he’d been holding in his face relaxing. “Research?”

“Mm. Yes. Research is important. Gotta stay on top of what everyone else is up to.”

He shook his head, amused. “Fine. I give. And, you know, there is a truffle risotto from this place not too far away that I’ve been dying to try…”

“You got it,” August said, ladling the thick, creamy hot chocolate from the pot into the two waiting mugs. She unlocked her phone and tossed it at Ford. “Here. You can start the order.”

“I can pay—”

“Ha. No. I’m not taking money from a student whose roommates believe is required to provide and cook food for the whole apartment.”

“Oh, but if I had normal roommates, you’d be totally chill taking money from a student?”

“Yeah, you know what I’m like. Brutal. All those kids out there, studying, rolling in money. They really should be providing for us operations managers more.”

Ford laughed. Now that he was here and relaxing, it was obvious how exhausted the poor guy was. Not for the first time, August started wondering whether she should be looking for a bigger apartment, something with two bedrooms so Ford could move in and have somewhere safe to land at the end of each day.

The one time she’d floated the idea, though, he’d been insistent that he wanted to do this on his own. She was sure their parents’ questions about whether he could really make the culinary thing work, and whether he wouldn’t be better off in business or law, had influenced his desire to prove himself, but August didn’t need him proving himself to her. She already believed in him. She knew how much he was doing, and she worried it was going to burn him out.

At the very least, he needed new roommates. The three he’d ended up with had seemed great at first but were turning into a real nightmare. Truly, the only real benefit of that place was its relative proximity to his school and job.

August carried their drinks back around the corner into the living room, placing them on the tiny coffee table. She looked at the couch, thinking. If Ford felt forced to show up at her place after work again next week, she’d start apartment hunting. The situation at his place should not be so bad that he felt the best option after clocking out at four in the morning was trekking to her place rather than heading home.

“Here,” he said, handing her phone back. “There’s a bunch of options I think you’ll like.”

He wasn’t wrong.

August scrolled the menu, whittling down the various risotto flavors until she picked the one she most wanted to try. Then, without saying anything, she scrolled to the desserts and ordered two servings of peach cobbler with ice cream—Ford’s favorite.

She placed the order and put her phone down, examining Ford, who seemed to be falling apart before her eyes. “Dude, when was the last time you slept?”

He shot her a serious look. “Wednesday morning? I think.”

“Ford…”

“I know, I know. But I had a test I needed to study for, a pastry practical, work, and it was Holly’s birthday and the apartment wanted a cake and a meal and everything to celebrate.”

Ford had spent his whole life with people telling him he needed to learn to say no. It wasn’t helpful or productive for August to remind him he could have refused—at least where his roommates were concerned.

Instead, she moved to place his hot chocolate into his cupped hands. “You should stay here this weekend.”

“I don’t want to intrude too much,” he said, yawning. “And I have work tomorrow night.”

“What time?”

“Ten. Until four a.m.”

“I’ll drive you. And pick you up after.”

“You don’t have to do that. You’ll be asleep.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mom.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Pretty sure that would be physically impossible.”

“Hey, look at how much they’re teaching you at that fancy school.”

“Hilarious. Really, though—”

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