"Piper! Perfect timing." He slides onto the stool next to me like we're old friends. "I wanted to thank you."
My hands tighten around the coffee mug. "Thank me?"
"For everything. The relationship angle, the content, the optics." He signals Lily for a coffee. "You two were great together. Really sold it. The scouts ate it up."
Sold it.
The words land like a slap.
"I'm sorry?" My voice sounds distant. Polite. The same tone I used with sponsors who wanted to 'collaborate' but really just wanted free advertising.
"The girlfriend narrative," Preston continues, oblivious. "It worked perfectly. Showed Ryder as stable, mature, relationship-ready. Exactly what NHL teams want. The content you two created together was gold—domestic, authentic, marketable."He accepts his coffee from Lily with a nod. "The arrangement couldn't have gone better."
Arrangement.
That word. That terrible, clinical, business-transaction word that makes everything we did—every laugh, every touch, every moment I thought was real—sound like a marketing campaign.
"Glad I could help," I say.
Preston doesn't notice. "With Ryder heading to meetings this week, we should discuss next steps. Long-distance relationship content could be huge. The Alaska girlfriend visiting the NHL boyfriend? That's a whole new angle."
"He's leaving Thursday?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
"Flying out for preliminary meetings. Nothing's set in stone yet, but between you and me?" Preston leans closer, conspiratorial. "Two more teams called this morning. Four total are interested. This is it—his shot at the big leagues, and my commission." He grins. "Win-win."
His dream.
The one that doesn't include a failing influencer he agreed to fake date for scout appeal.
"I need to go," I say, sliding off the stool.
"Think about the long-distance angle," Preston calls after me. "Could be great for both your brands!"
The cold air slaps my face. My hands shake as I pull out my phone, but not from the temperature.
Chad's voice echoes in my head. Everything with you is a performance.
Was this just another performance? Did Ryder fall for me, or fall for the idea of me? The version Preston wanted to sell to the scouts—stable, mature, relationship-ready girlfriend who made good content?
Was any of it real, or was I just the compelling narrative his agent wanted?
I'm in my car before I decide where I'm going. Not my cabin. Not yet. First, I need answers.
Ryder's truck sits in his driveway, which means he's home between shifts. The cabin looks exactly the same as it did two months ago when I arrived—straight and perfect to my crooked, weathered, mess—but everything's different now.
Or maybe nothing was ever real to begin with. Maybe he got his offers and didn't think about me once. Multiple teams interested, and he hasn't said a single word to me. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.
I knock harder than necessary.
Ryder opens the door in jeans and a thermal shirt, hair still damp from a shower, and my ribs feel too tight around my lungs. Two months ago, he was just the grumpy neighbor who saved me from a moose. Now he's the man I'm in love with.
Or thought I was in love with.
"Piper?" He blinks, surprised. "I was just about to text you. Come in, it's freezing?—"
"Were you going to tell me?" The question comes out harsh. "About Thursday?"
His expression shifts. Surprise to confusion to something that might be guilt. "How did you?—"
