Take A Number: A Fake Dating Romantic Comedy

by Amy Daws

  Dean shoots me a knowing look because he knows firsthand how the construction has been a mess over there. As a silent investor, he’s updated regularly on the progress, and it’s been setback after setback even though we’re opening in a month. We purchased an old building to stay on brand with the charm of my flagship bakery here in Boulder, and the renovations ended up more in-depth than initially estimated. If my contractor doesn’t get his shit together, I’m going to be serving cold croinuts at my grand opening because I’ll have to bake them here in Boulder. Talk about a horrible start to my career as a franchiser.

  I pin Dean with a serious look. “My focus needs to be entirely on my business right now.”

  “I can respect that.” Dean nods in agreement. “In fact, your ambition is pretty damn sexy.”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t start flirting again, Moser. I’m a nun, remember?”

  Dean holds his hands up. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it. Actually, I empathize with everything you’re saying. You and I have very similar views on business, and I, too, have zero desire to ever settle down.”

  My brows lift curiously. “What’s your damage?”

  Dean shakes his head dismissively. “No damage. It’s just not for me. Kate and Lynsey are on those paths full steam ahead right now, and I am doing everything I can to hop off their train. And apparently, I’m doing too good of a job because they’re pissed I’m not dating more serious girls. Girls they can have an actual conversation with. But let me tell you, Norah, they don’t have to be bright to be good at…” Dean gestures to his groin, and I cringe with disgust.

  “God, you’re a pig.” I turn away, wondering what the hell is wrong with me for confiding in a terminal bachelor. I glance at him over my shoulder. “You look so put together and professional, and then you open your mouth and ruin everything.”

  Dean’s smile grows. “Some people find it charming.”

  “You were so normal when I first met you.” I shake my head.

  “That’s because there are two sides to me. Business Dean and Dark Passenger Dean. Now that we’re friends, I let my true self come out.”

  “Lucky me,” I grumble and drop down onto the bench by the door. I hunch over and run my hands through my hair. “What am I going to do, Dean? Seriously. My mother won’t let this Nate thing go. She’s going to involve my dad, and my dad is going to make me feel guilty like he always does.”

  Dean takes the seat next to me. “Maybe you could take a different date to their party.”

  I jerk my head to look over at him. “How does that help me? I just told you I don’t want to date anyone. I have too much going on.”

  “I mean not a real date—just someone who’ll get your mother off your back. A fake date.”

  “What, like hire a male hooker?” My mouth goes dry at the thought.

  “Jesus, not a hooker!” Dean laughs with genuine amusement that I feel in my belly. “I can’t even picture you with a hooker. Your OCD would kick into overdrive around a man who has sex for money.”

  My face falls. “What makes you think I have OCD?”

  Dean flinches like he’s revealed too much. “I’ve seen you in the bakery for years now, Norah. You have these tics.”

  “Tics?” I ask, feeling exposed. “At what point did you become a level ten stalker?”

  “Are you saying you’ve never noticed me?” He pins me with a challenging look that gives me a jolt of energy. “I come to Rise and Shine a lot…I’m certain you at least know how I take my coffee.”

  I roll my eyes defensively while inside saying cream and two sugars. But I know several of my other regulars’ coffee preferences too. It doesn’t mean anything.

  Dean sighs and tilts his head, his eyes roaming deliberately over my face like he’s reading my mind. His close inspection causes my cheeks to flush, and suddenly, it’s a lot warmer in this alley than it was a few seconds ago.

  Dean licks his lips with determination. “I’m not too shy to admit that I’ve noticed you measuring everything three times.”

  “That’s just to be precise. Any good baker measures multiple times. I have that included in my franchise manual.”

  “I didn’t first notice it in your manual. I noticed it by watching you. You’re a perfectionist, Norah. Your bakery is impeccable, and your business model for the franchise is a great example of that high level of care—your brand story alone is a work of art.”

  My body flushes from his praise. Who knew having a stalker could be so…flattering? “Well, I want Rise and Shine to be successful. I came up with this idea when I was a teenager, and it still surprises me that I’m taking this next step.”

  “I know. God, I wish you could understand that I’m complimenting you. Seriously, I’ve reviewed franchise folders from different restaurants and bakeries, and none have come close to being as marketable as yours. You were the easiest investment I’ve ever made, and that’s coming from someone who’s spent his entire adult life investing in the stock market.”

  My lips part as Dean showers me with all the affirmations I could ever want in life. It’s overwhelming, actually, and I hate that I have to quickly swipe at my upper lip, hoping he doesn’t notice how much his compliments have affected me. Dean really does have two sides to him, and this one is highly appealing. If only my mother could hear everything he just said. Maybe then she’d see my bakery isn’t just a bakery, and that I’ve spent years of blood, sweat, and tears to turn my dream into a reality.

  “Back to my original point…why don’t you take a guy friend to this thing? Someone your mom doesn’t know who can be your date for the night?” He must think I have tons of those lying around.

  “I don’t have guy friends. I barely have girlfriends. Rachael is probably my closest friend, and that’s only because she works for me. She probably doesn’t even like me. I’m sure you’ll be shocked to hear this, but I’m a really bossy boss.” I sound mopey. Anything to do with my social life always makes me mopey.

  Dean nudges me with his shoulder. “I’m sure Rachael likes you, Norah. You’re impossible not to like.”

  My chest swells at the comment he threw out like it was nothing. I’ve never been very good at the friend thing. In fact, one might say I was terrible at it. In high school, I had a custom cookie business that was so successful I found myself baking on weekends instead of going to parties. My twenties were even worse once I finished culinary school and opened the bakery.

  “I suppose I could take Rachael and tell my mother I’m a lesbian,” I murmur, mildly tickled at the image that idea conjures in my head. Although knowing my mother, she’ll just bust out adoption books or sperm donor catalogs.

  Dean laughs. “Surely, you know one guy who’s willing to go with you to a party.”

  “I know you, Dean.” I huff, and then my eyes widen as an idea takes root in my mind. “I know you.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Dean replies with a nervous laugh.

  “I am,” I exclaim and turn to grab his arm excitedly. “Seriously, Dean, this is perfect. We can say we met through the bakery, and you’re an investor, and we just started dating. You can say all those wonderful things you just said about my business model to my mother, to my mother’s friends, and to everybody at the party. It’ll be great! It’ll be like a campaign tour for Rise and Shine Bakery. Maybe then my mother will see this isn’t just a lemonade stand I’m running; I’m a legitimate entrepreneur. And since you don’t want a girlfriend and I don’t want a boyfriend, neither of us will have any expectations. It’s perfect!”

  Dean stands and fidgets with his glasses nervously. “Did you forget I’m a sexist womanizer? I objectify you on a regular basis.”

  I roll my eyes dismissively. “I’ve been ignoring that side of you for months now; it’s like an annoying breeze. It’s fine. And at the party, you can be the Business Dean you just told me about. This is perfect. I know you can do this.”

  “Oh. I’m certain I could do this, but why would I want to? W
hat’s in it for me, exactly?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing me warily.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and stand to face him eye to eye. “What did you have in mind?”

  His brows lift, and he glances at my smock.

  “Not that.” I shove him away. “That is not an option.”

  He laughs heartily. “I’m sorry, it was a joke…mostly.”

  “I’m not joking about any of this, Dean. If you’re with me at that party, I’ll owe you one. A big one.” I take a step closer, and his dark eyes zero in on my lips, causing my body to instantly heat. This happens a lot when Dean’s eyes are on me. It doesn’t mean anything, though. It’s just a natural hormonal reaction to being the object of an attractive man’s gaze. Ignoring the bead of sweat collecting on my upper lip, I offer, “You could have free croinuts for the rest of the year. Or I could reserve a booth for you every day. I know you have your co-working space down the street, but you spend enough time at the bakery, you deserve your own table. Or maybe I can name a croinut after you at the new Denver location. Wouldn’t that be cool? You could pick the flavor. I see you as a maple glaze and bacon variety, but I could do whatever you like. These are your terms. We can look at this like another business transaction. I will do anything to get my mother off my back.”

  Dean runs both hands through his beard as he thinks long and hard. “Are you really willing to do anything?”

  “Well…mostly,” I reply nervously when I see a strange glint in his eye. “I do have limits.”

  A dirty smile spreads across his face. “That’s what safe words are for, sugar tits.”

  “Never mind. This is a horrible idea,” I snap and turn to head back into the bakery.

  Dean laughs and grabs me around the waist. His firm hands send a spasm of electricity through my body as he turns me back to face him. “Norah, I’m joking. Jesus…you need to relax a little. Of course I’ll help you. We’re friends, right?”

  His eyes fixate on me for a moment, and I’m literally standing in the alley in his arms. I jerk out of his embrace before I get embarrassingly sweaty. “Just friends, yes. But I’m looking at this as a business transaction, so it’s not a friendly favor. I want to find an appropriate way to pay you back sometime. Extra emphasis on appropriate.”

  He nods. “Got it, boss.”

  “And I have one more condition.”

  Dean inhales knowingly. “It wouldn’t be you if you didn’t have conditions.”

  I quirk a brow at him. “Call me sugar tits ever again, and I get to flatten your nuts with a rolling pin.”

  Dean flashes me a grin. “Fair enough.”

  I reach out for a handshake. “Clearly, my mother has made me insane for going to these extremes, but I’ll do whatever it takes to get her to quit trying to set me up.”

  Dean takes my hand in his. “You’re kind of hot when you’re angry, Norah.”

  I roll my eyes and pull my hand away before my body overheats again. “I’m already regretting this.”

  The next day, I’m on my way to Norah’s apartment for a homecooked dinner and discussion of the “ground rules” for our business transaction. Or at least, that’s what her bossy text message said last night. She clearly had an anxiety flare-up after I left yesterday because she sent several messages freaking out about everything that could go wrong at her parents’ party and came up with the genius idea of a list of rules. Knowing Norah, she’ll probably have a binder and a notary on hand for our signatures.

  I can’t wait.

  I’ve never seen Norah’s apartment, so I’m intrigued to see her outside of the bakery. And out of that stupid smock. The night she came to my thirtieth birthday party was one of the only times I’ve seen her dressed up. I still can’t get the images of her in that red tank top out of my mind. It was simple but effective.

  Being Norah’s fake date may have been my best idea yet.

  And the craziest part is, it wasn’t my idea. I didn’t see that coming from her. Especially since she’s such an introvert. Boulder is a small town, and I never see her out and about. And considering Norah lives above her bakery on downtown Pearl Street that’s chock-full of bars and restaurants, it’s safe to assume Norah is a homebody.

  The sun is beginning to set as I park in front of the bakery. Norah’s place is prime real estate with lots of foot traffic from tourists and locals. Plus, her building is historical, which adds tons of character to her bakery. The second location will be very similar once the contractors have completed the restoration process. What’s better is, there are few specialized bakeries like it in Denver, so the residents won’t know what hit them. Norah’s croinuts are unbelievable and addictive. Although I’m still not one hundred percent sure my addiction isn’t to Norah more than to her croinuts.

  I walk around the building and find the green side door Norah detailed in her text. I press the button labeled Donahue and wait patiently.

  “Yes?” Norah’s voice echoes over the intercom.

  “Hi, this is Dean Moser, your well-hung hooker for the night.”

  A silent pause on the other end has me briefly regretting my joke, but she must forgive me because I hear the lock open without a word. As soon as I begin climbing the tall staircase, the delicious scent of meat hits my nose and makes my stomach growl.

  The apartment door at the top of the stairs opens, and Norah emerges, looking frazzled. “I’m just finishing the béarnaise sauce, come on in.”

  She turns, and her bare feet pad down the long hallway inside her apartment. I follow, taking in her frayed jeans and white tee that’s knotted in the back, revealing a sliver of pale skin just above her checkered apron. Her casual look is completely at odds with my plaid slacks, T-shirt, and sky-blue suit coat I wore to what she described as a business meeting.

  Regardless, my stomach likes what it smells as I turn the corner into her bright kitchen with whitewashed walls, white cabinets, and a large cream marble slab over an island containing the sink.

  “I hope you eat red meat,” she says as she stirs something over the commercial-grade stove.

  “I am a carnivore.” I slip off my jacket while checking out Norah’s ass in those tight jeans.

  “Extra-large from what I hear,” she says, glancing over her shoulder and catching me before I raise my gaze to hers.

  I can’t help it. Norah has curves that must be appreciated. I’m an ass man, and Norah’s might be the best I’ve seen. It’s a travesty she hides her curves under those aprons.

  Shaking the image of her in nothing but an apron out of my head, I mosey into her attached living room that has a bank of windows overlooking Pearl Street. I glance down to see the streetlights have come on and people appear to be heading out for the night. “How long have you lived here?”

  A sizzle escapes the stove as Norah replies, “Since I bought the bakery so…eight years, I guess?”

  I nod, and my brow furrows. “You were how old when you opened Rise and Shine?”

  She glances over her shoulder. “Are you trying to guess my age, Moser?”

  “No, I’m trying to figure out how a young twentysomething could afford a bakery and an apartment on Pearl Street. This is a hot location.”

  She nods and turns back to the stove. “I was twenty-two, which makes me thirty now if you must know. And I had my dad co-sign a business loan for me.” She turns to look at me. “I assume you didn’t have to take out a loan to invest in Rise and Shine-Denver?”

  I ignore that question and turn the corner to peer into a set of frosted sliding doors. They lead into a bedroom with a perfectly made white bed covered in white throw pillows. A large black and white photo of the Eiffel Tower covers the far wall.

  “Have you been to Paris before?” I ask as I head back into the kitchen and take a seat at the marble island.

  “Not yet.” There’s a wistful note to her voice as she pours a creamy sauce into a glass gravy boat. “It’s at the top of my list, though.”

  “Wh
y Paris? Why not Thailand or Brazil or South Africa?”

  She pins me with a dubious look. “Do you really have to ask a baker that question? Paris is known for its pastries and desserts. It’s like a mecca for a baker. Plus, my friend Chelle from culinary school lives there, and she’s always sending me photos of Parisian bakeries, and it’s just…so inspiring. A lot more inspiring than good ole Boulder, Colorado. I would love to move there someday.”

  I nod and smile as she pushes a bottle of red wine and two glasses toward me, silently bidding me to open it and pour. I do as I’m told as she plates what looks like a filet steak with broccolini and some type of fancy potato. “Looks like you’re a decent cook too.”

  Her blue eyes swerve up to meet mine. “You haven’t tasted it yet. It could taste like poison.”

  I huff out an incredulous laugh. “My nose rarely leads me astray.”

  She adds a garnish of some crispy herbs and uses a rag to wipe the edges of the plates where the béarnaise sauce went astray.

  I lean down to catch her eyes and break through her serious concentration. “Is it perfect yet?”

  Her eyes narrow. “Presentation is key to pulling in all of your senses when you eat.”

  My brows lift. “I must have missed that in the Rise and Shine brand philosophy.”

  “It’s not a me thing. It’s a food thing.” She straightens and removes the apron from around her waist. I take the opportunity to drift over her hourglass figure before looking at the presentation she’s slid in front of me.

  “You smelled the food when you walked in, right?” she asks, pinning me with a look.

  “Yes.”

  “And you heard the sizzling of the sauce on the stove?”

  “Yes.”

  She grabs a spoon and dips it into the gravy boat. “You’ve seen my presentation, which means there’s only one thing left.” She offers the spoon to me, and I open my mouth and taste the deliciousness of that sauce.

  My eyes close, and I let out a deep groan. “That tastes incredible.”

  “Because I’ve engaged your senses.” I open my eyes to find she’s watching me. “Now dig in before it gets cold. Cold food is not a sense I want you to experience.”