Page 33 of Not Your Valentine
“Everything okay?” he whispers.
“Yep, just peachy!”
He seems skeptical, and I don’t blame him—I’ve probably never used the word “peachy” before in my life.
“I was thinking,” he says. “There’s a light festival in the Distillery District. You want to go next weekend?”
“Sure.” There’s more enthusiasm in my voice than there usually is.
I glance at Esther. You see? We’re planning our date for next weekend. Isn’t our relationship soooo believable? But she’s not looking in my direction.
Hmph. Why did I bother sounding so enthusiastic?
Then, to my horror, I realize that I might actually be a 9/10 on the Helen Tsang Scale of Excitement about leaving my cozy apartment and going to a goddamn light festival.
What is the world coming to?
Chapter 11
The next week, Taylor and I exchange a few texts. He sends me even more pictures of heart-shaped cakes, one of them decorated with cinnamon hearts.
In my opinion, cinnamon hearts are the worst type of candy. In part, it’s because of what they represent: Valentine’s Day. But also? The flavor is just weird. I like cinnamon…but not like that.
He also asks what my friends thought of him, and I ignore the memory of Esther’s suspicious look, assuring him that he played his part well and they all thought we were a good match.
Unlike last week, I don’t have any dreams about him wearing bowling shoes in bed. One sex dream, sure, but it’s blessedly unrelated to bowling.
Unfortunately, when I meet Taylor at King Station on Saturday evening—so we can walk to the Distillery District together—the bowling dream is what immediately pops into my head.
“Hey.” He smiles at me.
“Um, hi.” I hope that sounded normal.
Taylor opens his mouth, and I’m convinced he’s going to ask why my voice is weird, but he merely says, “Shall we?”
We talk about our weeks as we walk, and when we arrive at the Distillery District, there’s a large illuminated maple leaf. Behind the leaf, a sign points to an indoor exhibit, which sounds good to me—I want to get out of the cold.
Inside the dark room, there are giant illuminated flowers and toadstools, and perhaps we’re supposed to feel like little fairies amongst them. It’s kind of neat, but it’s not really my thing, though being inside is definitely appreciated…and apparently, watching Taylor enjoy it is also my thing.
Now, Taylor usually smiles quite a bit, but this smile is a little different. Since I’ve been spending more time with him lately, I’ve become acquainted with his various types of smiles. I haven’t seen this one before, but I know what it means.
It’s an expression of wonder.
I’m content to watch him as we wander around. He looks upward at a particularly tall flower and takes a picture.
“Look over here,” I say, and when he does, I snap a picture of him. You know, as proof of our date. Proof that I can later upload to Instagram if I like.
He takes lots of photos, and normally, I’d be bored by how much time we’re spending here, but I don’t mind. I reach for his hand, for practical reasons: I don’t want us to get separated in the crowd. It’s fairly busy here, but that only bothers me a little; I don’t even swear when I nearly trip over a kid.
As we go farther into the exhibit, it feels like the flowers and mushrooms are getting larger and a little more…otherworldly. At the front, there was a red toadstool with white spots, but back here, there’s a hot pink and green toadstool that looks more like an alien. Huh.
And we’re still casually holding hands.
Yep, no big deal, just here with my fake boyfriend, like a normal twenty-nine-year-old woman on a Saturday night.
One of the lights casts an odd green glow on Taylor, and he turns toward me as if he can sense my gaze on him. “What are you looking at?”
“You,” I say, before realizing that sounds horribly sappy. “I mean, the light on you. It’s interesting. I’ll take a picture and show you.” My words come out in a rush.
