"The snowball fight," he suggests.
"Already viral. We can't claim that as our 'getting together' story when everyone watched it happen." I chew my lip, thinking. "What about the fire? When you taught me about the wood stove?"
"Pretty sure teaching someone basic survival skills isn't romantic."
"Everything's romantic with the right framing." I'm already typing. "You came over to check on me, found me freezing and helpless?—"
"You weren't helpless."
"Ryder. I was absolutely helpless. I couldn't start a fire and I was wearing every sweater I owned layered for warmth." I meet his eyes. "You saved me from hypothermia, taught me the basics, and we connected over hot chocolate and?—"
"We didn't have hot chocolate."
"We're embellishing. Keep up." I continue typing. "The point is, it's a good story. Small-town hero helps city girl, sparks fly. Literally and metaphorically."
He's fighting a smile. I can see it in the corner of his mouth, the way his jaw relaxes slightly. "You're terrifyingly good at this."
"Three years as an influencer teaches you how to craft narratives." I save my notes and set down my phone. "Okay, story established. Next: couple behavior. We need to be believable."
"I know how to date, Piper."
"When's the last time you dated someone?"
His pause is telling. "Two years ago."
"Two years?" I lean back, surprised. "You've been single for two years?"
"I've been busy. Hockey, firefighting, not dying in the Alaska wilderness." He shifts in his chair. "What about you? Besides the viral breakup disaster, when's the last time you were in an actual relationship?"
The question stings more than it should. "Chad and I were together for three years. Before that, college boyfriend for two years. I'm actually very good at relationships."
"Except for the part where he dumped you on a livestream."
"Wow. Going right for the throat, Lockwood."
"Sorry." He runs his hand through his hair, and the gesture is so genuinely distressed I forgive him immediately. "That was—sorry. I'm tired and Coach reamed me out and I'm taking it out on you."
"It's fine." I wave it off, even though it's not quite fine. "You're right anyway. I'm clearly excellent at picking partners, which is why I'm now fake dating a grumpy hockey player to rebuild my brand while he uses me to convince scouts he's marketable."
"I'm not using you."
The intensity in his voice makes me look up. His grey eyes have gone dark, serious in a way that makes my pulse skip.
"We agreed this was mutually beneficial," I say carefully.
"It is. But that doesn't mean—" He stops, jaw working. "Never mind. What's next on your fake dating checklist?"
I study him for a moment, trying to read what he's not saying. But his expression has shuttered, and I know pushing won't get me anywhere.
"Physical affection," I say finally. "We need to be comfortable with casual touching. Hand-holding, arm around shoulders, that kind of thing."
"I can hold your hand, Piper."
"Can you? Because last night in your truck, you shook my hand like we were closing a business deal."
"We were closing a business deal."
"A fake dating business deal. Which requires physical chemistry people will believe." I extend my hand across the table, palm up. "Show me."
