For a moment, neither of them spoke. Margaret watched as John's whole posture slowly shifted. He looked odd—almost younger—and more relaxed than she'd ever seen him.

"Are you sure?"

"I guess," she snapped. How could he be so bloody relaxed about this? It puzzled her. Now that she'd actually agreed, a wave of panic washed over Margaret making her voice waspish and petty. "Yes. We're officially—" she couldn't actually finish her sentence. Good heavens, what had she gotten them into? "—Yes. Fine."

"Don't hurt yourself with happiness," he grumbled.

"What would like me to do? Seal it with a kiss?" Margaret blushed up to her ears as the rash sarcastic words tumbled out of her mouth. "I can't believe I've actually agreed to do this. Is that it then or was there something else you needed?"

"You're really bad at this," John dug his keys out his pocket and turned towards his truck. "Come on."

"Sorry?" John motioned for her to follow him and Margaret frowned. "Bad at what? What are you doing? I've got exams to study for—"

"They'll be here when we get back."

"Back from where?" She folded her arms around herself, trying to settle her churning stomach. "Where're we going?"

"On our first date." John opened the passenger door for her and jerked his head towards the cab, "Hop in."

"Right now?"

"Might as well. I'm not going to get much work done as it is and we need to iron out how we want to do this."

"But I'm not hungry."

"You don't have to eat."

"Shouldn't we talk about this before making a spectacle of ourselves?"

"We can talk when we get there."

"Mr Thornton—"

"Just get your ass in the damn truck, Margaret," he grumbled. She raised an eyebrow and he sighed, adding a gruff 'please.'

Margaret glanced at the vehicle then back at John, reality crystallising like a camera lens suddenly coming into focus. If they did this now, then there really was no going back to the way things were—well, at least not until January. But she'd agreed and her conscience and pride demanded she keep her word. Margaret let out a determined huff and climbed into the truck.

"Yeah, alright. Let's go on a bloody date." She muttered under her breath, heart pounding in her ears as John slid into the cab and started the engine. "How hard can it be?"

She could do this. She could date John Thornton —for six months. Technically it was seven but she clung to the smaller number.

Margaret groaned inwardly when John pulled his truck into the parking lot of the small coffee shop located near the edge of campus. It was a popular shop during term and now was fairly jam packed with students studying for end of term exams.

"Bloody hell," Margaret's gaze darted around the room. A few of her classmates spotted her and John the moment they walked in together and did double takes, pushing their heads closer to whisper and point. Margaret wished the floor would open and swallow her. It was like being in grammar school again where all the other students ever talked about was who was going with whom and who had kissed Tyler Roderick that week. Not that she ever had.

Most of Margaret uni friends knew about her general hatred of John Thornton. And now they were here. Together. Margaret blushed. Perhaps agreeing to this wasn't the smartest decision she'd ever made in her adult life. John switched off his mobile and squinted at the menu.

"What do you want?"

"I told you I wasn't hungry," She grumbled. "Pick something."

He shrugged. "Get us a table."

She scurried towards a tiny corner table and tried to tuck herself out of sight. If John noticed the steady stream of curious scrutiny he was generating, he didn't seem to care. Not that he ever cared about what people thought. "Brilliant," she sighed and covered her hot cheeks with her hands.

"Margaret?"

"Jill," Margaret managed a tight smile. Her lab partner slipped into the empty seat across from her and Margaret shifted uncomfortably. She and Jill Parkinson were partners for their stats class but Margaret didn't care much for her company. She liked gossip, romantic gossip in particular, far too much for Margaret's taste. "Studying for Professor Lang's exam?"

"Yeah," Jill looked pointedly at Margaret and then back at John as he paid for a sandwich, a scone, and some coffee. "What are you doing here?"

"I—well, I'm—" Margaret couldn't quite get the right words to come out of her mouth.

Jill could sniff out a new couple faster than a pointer hound could sniff out a pigeon. Before Margaret managed a passable answer to mitigate Jill's insatiable curiosity, John had reached the table. He nodded at Jill.

"That's my seat."

"Is it really?" Jill raised her eyebrows and gave Margaret a wicked smile that said she knew exactly why Margaret was here with John Thornton. "I'm so sorry. I'll leave you to it. Call me later, Margaret. I've got a question about some new stats data."

Margaret pressed her eyes closed and nodded. The entire freshman Greek community would know Margaret Hale went on a date with John Thornton before the next morning. Bloody hell. John sat, stretching out his long legs and took a noisy slurp of coffee.

"Did you have to pick the most popular coffee shop at school?"

"You like this place," John countered, popping half of his sandwich into his mouth. "Who was that?"

"The biggest gossip on campus and my stats lab partner," Margaret frowned at him as he pushed the blueberry scone across the table. "I said I wasn't hungry."

"You lied."

"And how do you know I like this shop?"

"Lucky guess," John held up his takeaway cup," and a little bit of logic." He pointed to the white rose surrounded by a wreath of evergreen leaves printed on the paper. "You almost always have one of these in class."

"I do not drink coffee—"

"You drink tea," John slid a second takeaway cup towards her and nudged the plate with the scone. "And eat a blueberry scone."

Margaret gaped at him, her face alternating between the heat of her temper and awkward embarrassment that he'd noticed her habits. "I didn't realise I was so—obvious."

"You're not exactly a subtle person. Eat your food," he checked his watch.

Margaret flinched and crossed her arms. "Don't bark at me. I'm not one of your employees."

"I didn't say you were." He scowled as she picked at the blueberry scone, "Are you going to eat that or not?"

"I didn't ask you to get me anything. I can buy my own food."

"This is a date." John interrupted. "Buying you food is part of the deal."

"Lower your voice."

"Why?"

"People will hear you," Margaret stole yet another glance at a nearby table. "And I'm not quite ready to announce our—whatever this is."

"This is a date," John repeated, not lowering his voice one decibel. "It's polite for the woman to eat what the man buys her."

"It's an archaic practice."

"Would you quit bitching about who bought the damn scone and just eat it?

She bit her tongue to keep from snapping at him, gulping at her tea. It was still quite hot and she burned her tongue. So far this was the worst date she'd ever been on.

"Next time, I'll pay for myself."

"I don't do Dutch." John took another bite of sandwich. "Besides I'm the one with a job."

"Excuse me, I have a job lined up for the summer. Simply being male and employed doesn't obligate you to pay for everything."

"In my world it does."

"Philistine."

"If you don't eat that, I will." John crossed his arms. "So where are you working?"

"At the maths lab off Granger Street."Margaret grabbed her fork and put a bite of scone in her mouth. It was a delicious scone and one of her favourites.

"What will your hours look like?"

"Why on earth do you need to know that?"

John gave her a flat look, "So we can plan our dates around our work schedules."

"Right," she took a determined breath, and pulled her planner from her bag, pushing the plate and scone to one side. Margaret felt suddenly nervous and began flipping through her planner. The idea of actually dating this man still hadn't settled itself in her mind. Not entirely anyway. "I'm not sure how we ought to go about this. But I suppose we should start by sorting out the wedding details and expectations we have for that."

"The wedding is a month away," John grumbled. "It'll keep."

"It's a destination wedding. We'll be spending a whole week in New York City. Edith has all these activities planned—"

"Motzel Tov. We can discuss it later."

"Mr Thornton, please be serious. We ought to sketch out a plan for it now."

"Let's skip the damn wedding and start with names."

"I may have agreed to date you but I'm not calling you 'darling' or 'dearest' or 'cupcake'."

"Great. Neither will I." John rolled his eyes, "How about you quit calling me Mr Thornton and use my damn name. It's pretty short and rolls off the tongue easy."

"Let's start with rules of this relationship, shall we?" Margaret retorted. "Number one, stop telling me what to do. I'm not a child."

John made a face. "No." He swallowed his last mouthful of sandwich, shaking his head. "No rules."

"Rule two, I don't like to be touched. Ever."

"I don't give a damn." John grumbled and took a sip of coffee. "I don't do rules."

"Well, I want to clarify our boundaries—

"Just because you've never dated doesn't mean—"

"Shut up!" She hissed. "I've dated."

"Liar."

"Rule number three, stop being a pain in the ass."

"I'm not the one being a pain in the ass. You want to write out a literal code of conduct for us to follow." John leaned his chair on its back legs, "Nobody does that."

"Well, maybe they should."

"That's complete bullshit and I'm not doing it. We're dating, Margaret, not signing a contract. If you don't know how to conduct yourself in public it's time you learned."

"Oh piss off," Margaret snapped. "You know perfectly well that this—" she gestured between them,"—this dating thing we're doing isn't exactly normal."

"Yes, it is." John insisted. "You're the one making it weird."

"No, this us a mad dash plan that you proposed just so you won't have to tell a few little white lies. If anything you're the odd ball out, not me."

John frowned, "I don't like lying. Or being lied to."

"Rule four, stop calling me a liar. It's rude."

"If you want a rule, fine. No lying. I won't lie to you and you won't lie to me. You want write that down?"

"Smart ass."

"Takes one to know one."

"What about all the rest of it?"

"The rest of it?"

"Yes! The—the whole—you and me and dating. How do we—" she stopped, embarrassed and flustered. "How do we decide what things we're comfortable with and what things we aren't?"

"We talk. It's a thing people do."

Margaret grit her teeth, "Talking to you is about as productive as carting water with a sieve."

"It might be more productive if you'd let me finish a damn sentence and then think about what I've said before jumping to conclusions."

Margaret scowled at him, wishing she was anywhere but here at the moment. This man was impossible. "So that's it then?" She demanded at last, her voice cold. She slapped her pen down. "We just wing it, yeah, and hope for the bloody best? That's never going to work—"

"We'll figure it out."

"Stop saying that. This isn't a bloody joke."

"I'm not laughing."

They glared at each other for a second, a muscle twitching in Margaret's jaw. This was utter madness. How on earth were they going to manage this? Margaret sucked in a breath, tempted to call the whole thing off when John sighed, his face softening the tiniest bit.

"There's no formula we have to follow, Margaret, and there's nothing to worry about." He laced his hands behind his head, studying her thoughtfully. "We'll take it slow, like normal people, and do normal things."

"Like what?" She snapped. "We aren't normal."

John leaned forward and slipped his wallet out of his back pocket. He took out a white business card and picked up her pen, scribbling on the back. Then he tucked the pen behind his ear and slid the card across the table.

Margaret glanced at the scratched numbers and then back at John.

"Let's start here. That's my phone number." He took her fork and stole a bite of her scone. "You should have it."

"I've already got it," Margaret slapped her hand over the scone before he could steal another bite and frowned at the card. His handwriting was atrocious. "You gave me your number for peer review, remember? Give me that." She tried to snatch her fork back.

"I gave you the Depot's number." John moved the utensil out of her reach. His arms were so much longer than hers she didn't have the slightest chance of stealing it back. "That's my cell number. Only five people have it. You make six."

"Brilliant. Give me my fork."

"Take the card."

"I don't want it."

"Too bad."

Margaret rolled her eyes and picked up the card, sliding it into her pocket. "And what am I supposed to do with your phone number?"

"Call." John paused and held out the fork. "It's a normal thing girlfriends do."

"Please don't—" Margaret shuddered, feeling cold, her stomach pitching at his words. "Please don't call me that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not really a proper girlfriend."

"Good thing I don't really do proper."

"Do you do anything the easy way?" She tried to tug the fork free from his grasp but John didn't let go. "I'm not going to call you or do any normal girlfriend nonsense," Margaret said firmly. "Going out once a week will be about all I can manage of your delightful company."

John snorted, shifting his grip on the fork, his fingers coming dangerously close to brushing hers. "You'll be relieved to know it won't be every week. I work pretty long hours and I don't have time to throw around." He held her gaze for a second too long and then let go of the fork. "After our first few dates, I'll probably only take you out once every two or three weeks at best."

Margaret nodded, hurriedly shoving another bite of scone into her mouth, feeling hot and itchy under his intense scrutiny. A short dinner every two weeks or so didn't sound too torturous. If they didn't talk much. Or at all. Margaret did a quick calculation, feeling her nervousness ease a little. Besides the wedding, they'd have to survive approximately twelve dates or less from June to the Gala. That was doable wasn't it? She might have to spend time with him one on one, but they had spent far more time together in class the last term than they would dating. And she'd managed that.

"What about May?" She asked.

"I can manage a date a week in May but that's pushing it."

"We don't have to do that—"

"Yes, we do. If we're going to convince people we're dating we have to go out a little."

"Right," Margaret grimaced. "I'll spend those dates filling you in on all the wedding details."

John grunted, making a face. "It's a wedding. How much do I need to know?"

"You've never met my cousin Edith." Margaret took another bite of scone. "Or my aunt. It's quite an experience and I recommend a bit of preparation."

"Great." John rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess we can swap. The gala won't be a picnic but we've got time for that."

"And after the gala we break up, yeah?"

"If we want to break up, we break up," he eyed her thoughtfully and then folded his arms. "Or not."

"We will break up after the gala, John Thornton." Margaret set the fork down on her plate with a sharp clatter. "I don't expect anything more than a mutual exchange of companionship for our stated purposes."

"Anything else?" He asked dryly.

"Just because your the masculine end of this—thing we're doing—"

"Dating."

"—you will not be paying for everything."

John raised an eyebrow. He grinned a little as he plucked up the rest of her scone and washed it down with the last of his coffee. "Try and stop me."

Margaret stared opened mouthed as he stood and began to weave through the crowd towards the entrance. At the door, he looked back and waited, his posture rigid and defiant. She knew he wouldn't leave her here. He'd just stand there like the stubborn bulldog he was until she gave in and let him drive her home. Why she couldn't fathom but she knew him well enough to know the date wasn't over in his mind until he saw her safely home.

No wonder the man was still single. No one could manage him, not even his formidable mother. And yet Margaret had agreed to endure six months of his old fashioned nonsense.

"It had better be worth it," Margaret muttered, slamming herself to her feet. "Because I just might murder him."

On the drive back to her father's house, John and Margaret spent nearly half an hour in complete silence. It was a first and the only pleasant thing about the entire exchange. Margaret slipped from the truck before John had time to let himself out and open the door for her. He didn't comment, but she heard him snort when she struggled to close the heavy door.

"Shut up."

"Come see me tomorrow after class."

"Why?" Margaret demanded.

"I'll explain later." He shoved the truck in gear and pulled away without further explanation.

Margaret tossed a few nasty words at his disappearing truck and sighed heavily.

"Worst date ever."

AN : What's this? Another chapter? Why yes, yes it is. Because it's still Christmas (the second day, to be exact)! Happy Boxing Day. Cheers.

*was bored and made a playlist* open dot spotify dot com forwardslash playlist forwardslash 0XHcleOWCaE1AyivxZZSEd?si=3cd3b4ffbf504373