“Who was that handsome young man you were talking to, dear?”
“Just a neighbor from our building,” Stella says, reaching for her coffee.
Caroline's eyebrows lift slightly. “Well, I hope you made it clear you're not available. He seemed to be flirting with you.”
Stella's eyes find mine across the small table, and something in her expression shifts. Her hand slides across the table to cover mine, and our fingers intertwine with a naturalness that catches me off guard.
“Don't worry, Mama,” she says as her thumb traces my knuckles. “I know exactly what I want.”
Her voice is soft, meant for her mother, but her eyes stay locked on mine. There's something in her gaze that makes my chest tight.
“Brandon's the only man I'm interested in getting to know better.”
The way she says it, still holding my gaze, makes it impossible to tell where the performance ends and something real begins. Her fingers tighten slightly around mine, and for a moment, I forget we're supposed to be pretending.
My thumb traces across her knuckles without conscious thought, and I watch her pupils dilate slightly in response. The space between us feels electric.
Slowly, reluctantly, she turns back to her mother, but her hand stays tangled with mine on the table. Her fingers squeeze gently, and I'm left wondering if that declaration was purely for Caroline's benefit or if there was something real underneath that perfectly delivered performance.
Because nothing about the way she said it felt like part of our charade.
twenty
. . .
Stella
By the timeI make it back to Brandon's apartment, it's almost ten o'clock at night, and I'm emotionally drained from the day. Between the coffee shop this morning, work this afternoon, and then dinner with my mother, I'm exhausted.
I kick off my heels the moment I’m through the door and immediately collapse onto Brandon's couch with a dramatic sigh. “I love my mother, but I feel like I just performed a one-woman show for three hours straight.”
“She's thorough, I'll give her that,” Brandon says, settling beside me and reaching for the remote. “What do you want to watch? Something that doesn't require thinking?”
“Actually,” I say, curling my legs under me and turning to face him, “I was wondering if we could work on some things from my list tonight.”
He pauses with the remote halfway to the coffee table, and I catch something flicker across his expression that I can't quite read.
“Which things?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.
“Well, trivia night is tomorrow.” I pull my hair over one shoulder, suddenly feeling nervous about bringing this up.“Maybe we could practice some of the flirting techniques you mentioned? Like, how do I let Mason know I'm attracted to him without literally saying, 'You're so hot'?”
“Oh, that's easy. Body language,” he says immediately. “We talked about it the other night. Eye contact, finding excuses to touch him casually.”
“Ohmygod, that's so easy! Why didn't I think of that?” I say, the sarcasm dripping from my lips.
“It really is, though.” Brandon shifts to face me on the couch. “You probably do a lot of it instinctively.”
“Okay, but I need you to spell it out for me. What are the big things I need to make sure I'm doing?”
“Eye contact first. When someone's talking to you, really look at them. Not just polite listening but like you're genuinely fascinated by what they're saying.”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“Show me the difference. Look at me like you're being polite. Then look at me like you're fascinated.”
He gives me a standard smile, the kind he probably uses with people he meets at work. Pleasant, friendly, but forgettable. Then something shifts in his expression. His eyes focus on mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flutter, like I'm the most interesting person he's ever encountered.
