Page 33 of Don’t Fall For Your Ex-Boyfriend's Brother

Maybe Violet’s right and men are a myth. Well, the type of man I want is a myth.

Can a man really be like a book boyfriend?

My head’s a mess and I smile at Violet. “Let’s ride horses,” I say, wanting to change the subject.

Violet laughs. “Honestly, I think you should go out with Oliver to see what Tripp does. If he really doesn’t care, then oh well, at least now you know. Plus, free meal.”

I laugh alongside her. “Very true.” I pull out my phone, sending off a quick text to Oliver, letting him know I’d love to go to dinner.

He answers back quickly with a, ‘pick you up at seven tomorrow night?”

I agree, and it’s settled.

I hope I didn’t make a mistake.

I definitely made a mistake. After reading the first few lines of Tripp’s chapters, I’ve been a mess about my impending date with Oliver.

I reread the lines Tripp wrote:

When I look at you, I see everything I never knew I needed. You make the world feel brighter, lighter, like maybe there’s more good in it than I ever believed. Loving you isn’t just a choice—it’s the only thing that makes sense in a life that’s been full of chaos. You’re the calm in my storm, the light in my darkness, and I’m not letting go of that. Of you. Not now, not ever.

It nearly brings tears to my eyes. What I wouldn't give to have somebody write these words about me. What does Tripp think about when he writes these words? Do they just come from a place of nowhere?

Has he ever even been in love?

These are questions I’ll never get the answer to.

I turn off my reading device, and smear some lip gloss across my lips. I fluff my blonde hair in my mirror, trying my best to look great for my date.

I haven’t been on a date in ages, and honestly took way longer than I’d like to admit trying to choose an outfit.

I landed on a red sundress with brown wedges. The look is beachy with a hint of subtle class. At least I hope Oliver likes it.

For a brief second as I close my eyes, I picture Tripp at my door instead of Oliver. My mood sours at the thought.

However, I hold my head up high and grab my brown crossbody purse.

There’s a knock at the door just as I’m stepping out of my bedroom, the sound perfectly timed with my exit. Wow, right on time. My heart skips a beat, anticipation thrumming through me as I smooth down the front of my dress.

I open the door, and there stands Oliver. “I like a punctual man,” I tease, my lips curving into a grin.

His smile widens, his eyes flickering over me with appreciation. “You look amazing,” he says, his voice warm and genuine.

“Aw, thank you,” I reply, feeling a flutter of apprehension as I lock the door behind me. The click of the lock echoes in the quiet hallway, grounding me in the moment.

Why does this all feel so wrong?

Oliver’s come directly to my apartment, taking the back staircase that winds up from the parking lot behind the shop. It’s quiet now, the shop closed for the evening after I decided to close up early, giving myself some extra time to get ready. Now, we’re standing together on my little porch, the evening air cool and crisp, filled with the scent of autumn leaves.

“So, where are we going for dinner?” I ask, half-expecting him to say Moore’s since he owns the place. But instead, he surprises me.

“Atta Boy,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “They’ve got a great chicken and waffles sandwich.”

“Oh,” is all I manage to say as my heart flutters—nerves and anxiety warring within me. The unexpected choice throws me off balance, and a sudden rush of worry floods my mind.

Oh shit.

I hope Tripp isn’t working tonight.