He glances down and instantly barks out a laugh, loud and unfiltered. “We’ve got more mounts than a rodeo cowboy. Fucking brilliant.”
I laugh too, the tension breaking like a tight wire finally snapping. The weight in the cab lifts, just a little, and I breathe easier.
“I thought you’d like that one,” I say, watching the way his smile lingers.
And for a moment, it feels almost normal again. Just us. Even if my heart’s still sitting quietly in the space between us, wondering if he’ll ever actually see it.
It’s easier to hold on to hope than to admit the truth. That maybe Liam knows how I feel. And just ignores it.
4
We roll to a stop in front of a restaurant in downtown Sheridan, the soft glow of string lights spilling out onto the sidewalk like a warm invitation. I look out the window, eyebrows pinching.
“I thought we were going to a bar?”
“There’s a bar in there,” Liam says casually.
“You know what I mean.”
He just grins, that infuriatingly confident one that makes my stomach do stupid things.
“Figured since I’m asking a lot of you, the least I could do is take you out to dinner.”
Dinner. Sure. No big deal for him. Just a meal before we start faking a relationship to secure a business deal. Me? I’m secretly spiraling. Because fake or not, this feels a lot like a date. And worse, it feels like one I’ve wanted for a long time.
“Come on, honey,” he says, tapping my knee with his knuckles. “We’ve got a reservation.”
Before I can respond, he’s already out of the truck, rounding the front like he’s done this a hundred times. He opens my door and extends a hand, palm up, waiting. Expecting.
I take it because what choice do I have?
But when I try to let go, his grip tightens just enough to keep me close. Not too much. Not forceful. Just intentional.
“We’ve got to make this look real, Olive,” he murmurs, voice pitched low like a secret meant just for me even though there’s no one around.
Mission accomplished, I think, because my heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid he might actually hear it. Every step we take toward the restaurant feels heavier, more charged.
Inside, the scent of warm bread, garlic, and tomato sauce hits me like a hug, and my stomach lets out a traitorous growl. Liam hears it and glances sideways, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth, but thankfully doesn’t say anything.
“You picked Italian,” I say quietly.
He shrugs, leading me toward the hostess stand like it’s no big deal. “I figured you’d be hungry after working so hard today. And you love this place.”
I blink. Because Liam Stone? He hates Italian food. But I love it. And the fact that he remembered twists something deep in my chest. Fake or not, this feels dangerously real.
We’re led to a table tucked away near the back, where the lights are softer and the noise fades to a gentle hum. It’s intimate, and it feels like the kind of place couples go when they don’t want to be overheard.
Liam pulls out my chair like a perfect gentleman, the smooth scrape of wood against tile sending a ripple down my spine. I murmur a thank you and sit, trying not to let my skirt ride up too far. He takes the seat across from me, stretching out like he owns the whole damn restaurant. And I hate how sexy it is.
A server appears almost immediately, all smiles and syrupy charm directed solely at Liam.
“What can I get you to drink, sir?” she asks, voice sweet as spun sugar. Her gaze doesn’t so much as flick in my direction.
She’s tall, blonde, probably wears perfume that smells like vanilla and has effortless confidence. She’s totally Liam’s type. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in a blouse that might be a little too tight and boots I can’t decide if I love or hate.
But Liam doesn’t take the bait. He looks up at her and then right at me.
“What would you like, honey? Gin and tonic?”
