IN BLOOM

CHAPTER SIX

A taste of real

The pen felt heavier than it should have. But I signed anyway.

A week had passed since I first held that contract in my hands at Theo’s, and three days since I’d walked into Daniel Carter’s office—silk blouse ironed, edits in hand—and shook on the most surreal agreement of my life.

It didn’t feel like I’d sold my soul.

Not quite.

But it also didn’t feel like something I could fold neatly away and forget once the ink dried. The moment my signature curled along the last page, something else started to settle in. Not regret. Not fear.

Curiosity.

An itch I couldn’t name at first, but one that lingered beneath the surface like static before a storm.

And tonight, sitting at the shop alone after hours, my fingers wrapped around a mug of lukewarm tea, I finally let it form into a question: What would it feel like to actually go out with Daniel? No cameras. No strategy. No obligation.

Just…a date.

Ridiculous, I knew.

This was a marriage of convenience. We had terms. Boundaries. Clauses that made everything sterile and safe. But contracts didn’t account for curiosity. Or the kind of thoughts that crept in late at night when your defenses were tired and the world was too quiet.

I sipped my tea and stared at my phone.

He had texted earlier that day—something efficient and Daniel-like about upcoming public engagements, a charity art gala, and a gala prep meeting with his PR team.

I hadn’t answered yet.

Instead, I typed something completely off-script.

“Do you ever do normal things?”

Backspace.

“Are you allowed to have fun or is that outside the scope of the agreement?”

Backspace again.

I set the phone down and pressed my palms over my eyes, frustrated. I wasn’t even sure what I wanted from him. A walk in the park? A cup of bad coffee in a café that didn’t have a press release attached?

Maybe I just wanted to know who I’d signed my name next to. The man behind the contract. The man who looked at everything like a chessboard and moved like he already knew where the game ended.

Because despite his polished exterior and careful restraint, there was something about him—something unsettled. Not broken. Just…unfinished.

And I wanted to see it.

A soft chime from the back door made me jump.

I glanced up—and blinked.

Daniel stood there, tall and sharply silhouetted against the fading light, dressed down for once in a charcoal sweater and black coat that somehow made him look more like a man and less like a corporate enigma.

I opened the door slowly. “What are you doing here?”

He raised a brow. “You didn’t respond to my message.”

“And you thought you’d just drop in unannounced?”

He glanced past me, into the warmly lit shop. “It’s after hours. I figured you’d be closing up. I brought coffee.”

He held up a tray with two cups. Not branded, not espresso, just regular paper cups from a corner café I vaguely recognized.

Something tugged at my chest.

“You drink coffee after six?” I asked.

“Tonight I do.”

He stepped inside before I could say more, handing me a cup without ceremony. It was warm. Vanilla-scented.

I stared at him. “This is suspiciously human of you.”

His mouth quirked. “Don’t get used to it.”

We sat down in the corner near the front window, the kind of seat customers liked best in the morning when the sun filtered through the glass and warmed the wood. Tonight, it was lit only by the glow of the overhead bulbs and the faint shimmer of passing streetlights.

He took a sip of his coffee. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh?” I asked, raising a brow.

“You want to test the edges.”

My fingers tightened around the cup. “I signed the contract.”

“You did. But that doesn’t mean you’re not still wondering.”

I looked away. “About what?”

“What it would be like if it were real.”

I didn’t answer right away. He didn’t press.

We sat in silence for a minute, the kind that wasn’t entirely comfortable but wasn’t strained either.

Then I said quietly, “I want to go out.”

His eyes flicked to mine. “Out?”

“Yes. Like a date. Not for the cameras. Not for your investors. Just…a night. Something real.”

“That’s not in the contract.”

“Exactly.”

He studied me for a moment. “You want to go on a fake date to make this fake marriage feel more real?”

I shook my head. “No. I want a real date. One night. No script. No photographer. No agenda.”

He was quiet again, his gaze unreadable. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Maybe because if we’re going to play at being married, I’d like to know who I’m pretending with.”

That made something flicker in his expression. Not amusement. Not irritation. Something…careful.

After a pause, he said, “Alright. One night.”

I blinked. “Really?”

He nodded. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”

“No itinerary?”

“No itinerary.”

I stared at him. “You’re not going to show up in a suit and take me to a five-star restaurant, are you?”

A rare smile tugged at his mouth. “Not unless you want me to.”

I felt myself smiling back despite everything. “Surprise me.”

The next night, Daniel Carter showed up at my apartment building in a dark green jacket and sneakers.

Sneakers.

I stood in the lobby for a moment, stunned. It felt like seeing a unicorn in jeans.

He held out a helmet. “We’re taking my bike.”

I blinked again. “You own a bike?”

“I own three.”

“Color me shocked.”

He smirked. “Consider yourself colored.”

The ride was fast, exhilarating, the night air sharp against my cheeks. I clung to him tighter than I intended, but he didn’t seem to mind.

We ended up twenty minutes out of the city at a small lakeside town that felt like it had paused sometime in the ‘80s and never restarted. The streets were quiet, the lake shimmered under the moonlight, and the place smelled like old pine and burnt sugar.

Daniel took me to a retro arcade diner. Vinyl booths, neon signs, the works.

We ate burgers. Real, greasy, glorious burgers. And milkshakes that probably shaved a year off my life.

He didn’t check his phone once.

He laughed—actually laughed—when I beat him at pinball.

I caught him watching me during dessert, something wistful in his eyes.

“What?” I asked, half-shy.

He took a breath. “You look like someone who’s been holding her breath for a long time.”

I lowered my spoon. “And now?”

“You’re almost exhaling.”

That silenced me in a way no business negotiation ever had.

Later, we walked down by the lake, past the benches and old rowboats, the world hushed and soft around us.

“Thank you,” I said. “For this.”

He glanced at me. “Still curious?”

I shook my head. “Now I’m confused.”

“Why?”

“Because this—tonight—it felt like the start of something. But we’ve already agreed on the end.”

Daniel looked out over the water.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” he said quietly.

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe we could both live inside the illusion and walk away unscathed.

But something about the way he said it made me wonder if the bridge was already burning.

And then boom-

I woke up sweating and realized it was all a dream and I couldn't help but hit myself on the head and now I was realizing how much this whole thing was getting to me