“This isn’t about me.”
“Sure, it is. If I’m playing your boyfriend, I should at least know your favorite color.”
“Blue,” I answer automatically.
He smiles, slow and knowing. “Knew it.”
“How could you possibly know that?” I narrow my eyes.
“You’ve got the kind of calm that only comes from liking the color of the sky.”
The line should make me roll my eyes. Instead, it lands somewhere between my ribs, catching on the edge of a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
For a second, the noise of the café fades—just him and me and the hum of something I’m not ready to name.
He clears his throat, breaking whatever spell we’re in. “So, fake girlfriend, what time’s dinner again?”
“Seven.”
“Plenty of time to make you fall forme first.”
I laugh too loudly, and it earns a look from the barista. “You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“Not highly,” he says, grin crooked and disarming. “Just honest.”
I close my laptop because pretending to focus is pointless. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah.” He leans back, watching me with that serene smile that shouldn’t feel this intimate. “But you’re still here.”
He’s right, and that realization hits me harder than it should. I glance at the clock. 6:12. I should go. I should get ahead of this before it spins any further out of my control. But when he stands to pull my chair out for me, his hand brushes against the small of my back, and every coherent thought I have goes quiet.
Outside, the sky’s turning violet, and the reflection in the window catches us both: me trying to remember how to breathe, him smiling like he already knows I’ll fail. For one dangerous heartbeat, I let myself imagine this isn’t pretend. And that’s the problem because, for the first time since this morning, I don’t feel like I’m faking anything at all.
He opens the door for me, hand brushing mine as I pass. The evening air is cool and damp, carrying the smell of rain and roasted coffee. I suck in a steadying breath, trying to shake off the warmth still clinging to my skin.
“So,” he says, falling into step beside me, “are you heading home before dinner?”
“I have to change.” I hesitate, fingers tighteningaround my bag strap. “You can follow me if you want, or…” My voice trails off. It sounds ridiculous before I even finish the thought.
He looks at me, one brow raised, like he’s already ahead of me. “Or?”
“Or you could just—” I clear my throat, pretending this isn’t a big deal. “Ride with me. It’d be weird showing up in separate cars when we’re supposed to be dating.”
For a beat, he just watches me, and then the realization hits him.
“Oh,” he says slowly, that smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You mean for the drive to your mom’s place.”
My cheeks go hot. “Obviously. Where else would I mean?”
His mouth curves into a dangerous smile, like he absolutely knows where his brain went first. “Your apartment. It seemed like the logical assumption.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s mostly for show. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He flashes that easy smile again, the one that turns my stomach into a pretzel. “How about I follow you to your apartment instead? Just text me your address in case we get separated.”
“Good thinking.” I pull my phone from my bag, thumb flying across the screen.
“Elevator boyfriend.” His laugh is low, all warmth and mischief.
