We let the moment stretch. The click of utensils, the low hum of voices, and soft music were all background noise I barely heard over my own pulse. I took a sip of wine, then set the glass down.
“How about you?”
His brow lifted. “What about me?”
I met his gaze, pulse kicking. “Your own dating history.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, like he hadn’t expected me to flip the script. I could tell he’d planned this dinner to ask the questions, not answer them. He took a long breath, eyes steady on mine.
“We’re talking about fake dating each other. You might as well know more than what the media’s already put out there,” he said.
I kept my eyes on his face and waited.
“I never talk much about my marriage. It’s not something I like to rehearse. Not because it was ugly—that wasn’t the problem.”
His voice stayed even, but there was a weight in it that held me still.
“Evie was sweet and funny; she worked in event marketing, lots of travel and networking. We met at a charity event she helped organize. Back then, we handled each other’s pace, and for a while it worked. We had six good years.”
He paused, gaze drifting. “She put off having kids for her career, and I didn’t push. Then, right when we finally agreed to start trying, she had a fling on a work trip. She explained, I listened. One of those mistakes you can’t take back, but the trust was gone.”
His thumb pressed against the base of his glass, the only thing keeping his hand still, it seemed. I braced for what would come next, aware I’d stirred up a raw memory without knowing what would surface.
“I’d stayed quiet, finished the season, and six months later filed for divorce. It took another fifteen months to make it official.” He glanced back at me, and a shrug lifted his shoulder. “That’s all of it.”
I studied him for a moment, wondering how something said so calmly could carry so much finality.
“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. “Even if you both know it’s over, it takes time to settle all that.” My words echoed my own sting. “Guess I know a little about that feeling. The way my ex behaved…it’s different than a marriage ending, but it still leaves you with raw memories.”
The server came to ask if we needed anything else, which we didn’t, and she drifted away.
“I wasn’t expecting you to share all that,” I said softly.
“Didn’t mean to turn dinner into a story hour,” he replied with a faint smile. “But you asked.”
I let out a light laugh. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted to know.”
His gaze held mine. “I’m glad you didn’t hold back.”
“Me too. Thank you for telling me.”
Something fluttered in my chest, unexpected, but welcome.
After dinner, the spring air had cooled, but I barely noticed as my heart was doing a frantic tango of anticipation. The night was ending, and he still hadn’t given me the golden ticket to one-time “fake date” status.
He unlocked the passenger door and I slid in, smoothing my dress as if that could quiet the hummingbird convention flapping in my stomach. He rounded the front, slid in beside me,and shut the door with a soft, final click that made everything inside the car feel more intimate.
He turned toward me, his arm resting loosely on the console—winning armrest flirting, hands down. “It’s fake,” he said, voice rumbling, “but it started after we kissed. So, kisses are part of the deal, right?”
My heart went full fan leap, trying to reroute blood to every nerve in my body, as slow, inevitable heat crept up my neck. His “yes” came with a flashing “More Kisses Ahead.”
I swallowed, eyes darting to the windshield, then back to him. “Yes. They are.”
His mouth twitched with a smile, his secret handshake.
“Good,” he said, the word, a warm brush against my skin. Then he eased the car into drive.
After that unexpected confiding, I felt more connected to my fake boyfriend and more confident about faking a date at my sister’s graduation party. Sean was becoming very real now that I knew an intimate part of his history very few people probably knew. And if I wasn’t careful, I’d completely forget which parts we were pretending.
