“You sure?”
She squares her shoulders, her expression determined. “Esteban, I told you, I’m in. Let’s make them believe it.”
And just like that, I feel a little less nervous about all of it.
Chapter Nine
Eva
“Then let’s get our story straight. I wrote down some questions that we need to work on so we can be on the same page.” Esteban grabs a small notepad from the counter and hands it to me.
I take it, biting back a smile as I glance at the scribbled handwriting. It's... rough. Bold and messy, like he wrote it in a rush or maybe that’s just how he always writes. I kind of love it. It’s charming. Proof that this gorgeous man isn’t perfect. Finally, something that makes him feel more human.
I skim through the list and nod. “These are good questions.”
“They are.” He grins, walking back to the stove. “The food’s ready. Let’s sit down, eat, and we can plan our love story.”
I follow him to the table, my stomach already growling as the smell of spices and garlic hits me full force. Puerto Rican and Mexican food are my favorites, and there’s something magical about eating a homemade mealprepared by someone who clearly knows their way around a kitchen. My mouth waters just looking at the plate.
I grab both of our plates and place them on the table while Esteban opens the fridge. “I’ve got water, sodas, and fruit juice. What do you want?”
“I’ll go with juice.”
He nods, pours some into two glasses, and joins me at the table. I glance at the colorful plate in front of me: white rice, saucy beans, perfectly browned chicken, and golden tostones. My heart actually skips a beat.
“This looks delicious,” I say, already reaching for my fork.
“I know,” he says with a cocky grin. “Try it. I need to see your face when you take that first bite of my food.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I scoop up a little bit of everything, blow on it gently, then take a bite.
And, oh my God.
The flavor hits me instantly. The rice is perfect, the beans are comforting and savory, and the chicken is juicy with just the right amount of crispy edges. I can’t help the sound that escapes me. “Mmm—oh my God.”
Esteban leans forward, eyes lit with amusement. “There it is. That’s the sound I was waiting for.”
I fan myself dramatically, mirroring the way I reacted to the tostones earlier. “Okay, seriously? This is so good it’s disrespectful.”
He laughs, clearly proud. “Cooking is my love language. Consider this our first official fake-date meal.”
I glance at him over my fork. “If all our fake dates come with food like this, I might fall for you for real.”
He doesn’t flinch. He just holds my gaze and quietly says, “Maybe that’s part of my plan.”
Something flips in my stomach, and it’s not the food. But I can’t let myself get carried away. Noah warned me about this, told me more than once that Esteban is a natural flirt, that half the things he says don’t mean anything. Still, it’s hard to remember that when he looks at me like this, like maybe I’m not imagining the spark. I wish—God, I wish—it was more than just his charm. That he actually meant it. That he wanted me the way I want him.
I try to shake it off, focusing instead on the notepad next to me. “Okay, Mr. Casanova. Let’s talk details. These questions are pretty straightforward first date questions: favorite movies, pet peeves, that sort of thing.”
“Yeah,” he says, taking a bite of his food. “We need to get our stories straight. How we met, how long we’ve been together, what we like about each other. Stuff people ask when they’re nosy.”
“Got it.” I nod.
“So… how did we meet?” I ask, grabbing the notepad and twirling my fork like it’s a mic.
“I think it’s easier if we stay close to the truth,” he says, leaning back in his chair like he’s about to pitch a blockbuster. “We’ve known each other forever. You came to town one summer while you were in college, I saw you, fell hopelessly in love—obviously—and we’ve been secretly dating ever since. Now that you’re back for good, we decided to make it official and plan the wedding of the decade.”
“Wow.” I blink. “Look at you building the romance novel timeline.”
