"I'm not judging. Just observing." I turn my glass in my hand, watching the amber liquid catch the firelight. "Seems like this trip might be good timing. Give you some distance to figure out your next move."
"My next move is surviving this weekend without my mother setting me up with every single man at the reception." She pauses. "No offense."
"None taken. My goal is similar. The matchmakers in this town are relentless."
"So you've said. Eight years single?" She tilts her head, studying me. "That's a long time. What happened?"
The question lands heavier than she probably intended. I could deflect. Give her the same surface level explanation I've given everyone else for nearly a decade. Just haven't met the right person. Too busy with the company. Set in my ways.
But something about the way she's looking at me, direct and unafraid, makes me want to give her the truth.
"I was engaged. She was a lawyer from Vancouver. Beautiful. Ambitious. Everything that should have worked on paper." I take a slow breath. "Except she wanted me to be something I'm not. Wanted me to sell the business, move to the city, become the kind of man who wears suits and makes small talk at cocktail parties."
"That doesn't sound like you."
"It wasn't. I tried for two years to make myself fit into her vision of who I should be. Gave up things that mattered. Compromised on things I shouldn't have compromised on." The old bitterness rises, familiar and unwelcome. "When it ended, I promised myself I wouldn't do that again. Wouldn't pretend to be something I'm not just to make someone else comfortable."
Nadia is quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "That sounds lonely."
"Sometimes. But lonely is better than losing yourself."
"Is it though?" She meets my eyes. "I spent the last five years losing myself in my career. Told myself I was building something important. That the sixty hour weeks and the missed holidays and the relationships I let die were worth it because I was going somewhere." Her laugh is hollow. "And then they called me into a conference room on a Tuesday and handed me a cardboard box."
"Their loss."
"You don't know that. You don't know anything about my work."
"I know you flew across the country at the last minute to support your sister's wedding even though you clearly have a complicated relationship with your family. I know you're sitting in a strange bar making deals with strange men because you'd rather solve a problem than wallow in self pity." I hold her gaze. "That tells me more about your character than any resume."
The color rises in her cheeks, visible even in the dim lighting. "That's either very insightful or very manipulative."
"Can't it be both?"
"Probably shouldn't be, given that we're about to spend a weekend pretending to be together."
She has a point. I'm already too interested in her, already cataloguing the small details that will become dangerous if I let them. The way she holds her glass. The stubborn set of her shoulders. The hint of something softer in her voice when she talks about her sister.
I need to be careful. This is supposed to be simple. Transactional. A temporary arrangement that benefits both parties and dissolves cleanly when the weekend ends.
Except nothing about Nadia feels simple.
"We should go over logistics." I pull out my phone and check the weather app. "Storm's supposed to hit hard tonight. TheB&B is on the other side of town, and the roads that direction get treacherous after dark."
"Are you suggesting I drive in a blizzard?"
"I'm suggesting the opposite. My place is closer. Ten minutes up the mountain instead of forty through the valley." I keep my voice neutral, even though my pulse has picked up at my own suggestion. "Guest room. Separate space. You can head to the B&B in the morning when the roads are cleared."
Her eyes narrow. "You're inviting me to stay at your house."
"I'm offering you a practical alternative to dying in a snowbank."
"We just met."
"And yet you've already agreed to spend the next four days pretending to be my girlfriend." I lean back, spreading my hands. "Seems like sleeping under the same roof is a fairly minor addition to that arrangement."
She's quiet, and I can practically see the calculations happening behind her eyes. The smart choice would be to decline. To thank me for the drinks and the offer and drive to the B&B like a sensible person who doesn't go home with men she met an hour ago.
But Nadia doesn't strike me as someone who always makes the smart choice.
