Elowyn:FINALLY. Mom’s going to lose her mind. Bring her home soon.
I opened Instagram, where the single image I’d posted the night before had accumulated more attention than anything I’d shared since my discharge. Alex and me on the overlook, her hand resting against my chest, both of us caught in the blissful moment where we’d forgotten we were pretending. The caption I’d settled on was simple:Life keeps surprising me.
RanchLifeWithLou:Well look who’s been holding out on us. She’s beautiful, Finn. Really beautiful.
Lou’s comment sat at the top of a dozen others—a mix of congratulations from old Navy buddies, heart-eyed emojis from Dom’s Hollywood friends who’d found my account, and questions from ranch acquaintances who wanted to know when they’d get to meet my girlfriend.
north.hollywood.pt:dude! thats the catalyst studios boss!? lucky bastard.
My mouthhitched to the side as I scrolled through the rest—mostly positive, with people mentioning they hadn’t realized I was seeing anyone. The notification count kept climbing as I watched. Dating Alex came with a certain amount of public interest I hadn’t anticipated.
My phone buzzed again with a text from Alex.
Alex:posted 3 pics to my personal account last night.
Alex:family group chat has achieved critical mass. may actually explode.
I grinned despite myself, imagining the mayhem her family was probably inciting. Alex’s social media strategy was more complex than mine—she maintained two Instagram accounts, one for Catalyst Studios that showcased client work and industry inspiration with very few photos of herself personally, and a private personal account for family and friends. Her professional LinkedIn rarely got updated, and she’d mentioned dabbling in TikTok and Bluesky, though I got the impression she found most social media exhausting.
My approach was considerably simpler. Instagram for the occasional sunset photo or hiking trail, dormant Facebook I’d stopped checking months ago, and LinkedIn that still listed my active-duty status because updating it felt too final.
Me:How bad is the damage
Alex:Jason sent 8 cry-laughing emojis. Diana used the word “cute.”
Alex:Mom called at 6 to ask if I was sure you’re not a vegan hippie. 6!!
Alex:Dom reposted your photo to his story with about 50 flame emojis.
Alex:we’re officially part of the Walker-Zanetti publicity machine now.
Thethought should have been unsettling—my private life becoming content for Dom’s very public one. Instead, I felt satisfaction at having accomplished exactly what we’d set out to do.
Me:Any regrets about posting them
Three dots appeared and disappeared several times before her response came through.
Alex:ask me after we survive tonight.
I set my phone aside and padded to the kitchen, where the smell of coffee was already filling the air. Alex was at the counter wearing soft sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt she’d cut the neck out of, one shoulder bare. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, her glasses sliding down her nose as she focused on her overly-elaborate coffee ritual. I was determined to figure out cold brew when we got back so she wouldn’t have to go through so much trouble every day.
“Morning,” she poured coffee over ice cubes. “Tony wants to know your thoughts on brisket versus pulled pork.”
“Both,” I sat on one of the counter stools. “Always both when given the option.”
She turned with a slight smile, stopping her own coffee prep to fill a mug and slide it across the counter. “Good answer. Tony will approve.” She paused, fingers drumming against the counter. “So, the photos…”
“Were perfect,” I finished. “Even Lou approves, and she’s been giving me grief about my social media presence since I got back.”
Something flickered across Alex’s expression—too quick to interpret fully, but it looked like satisfaction mixed with something sharper. Like she was pleased about Lou’s approval but surprised by how much it mattered to her.
“Your family seems excited,” I took a sip of coffee and watched her carefully.
“That’s one word for it,” she rubbed the bridge of her noseunder her glasses. “Marcus wants to know if you play video games. Diana tried to ask if you have any single brothers without sounding like she was fishing. Mom’s planning a very thorough and invasive interrogation.”
“And you?”
She met my eyes over her coffee, taking a sip through the straw. “I think we’re about to find out exactly how good we are at pretending.”
