Caleb laughed, bright and genuinely delighted in a way his on-screen laugh never quite was.
"God, no. My characters are too busy teaching widows how to make artisanal jam and saving the town gazebo." He paused again, grin turning predatory. "I've played the same guy seventeen times. His name changes, but he's always a carpenter or a veterinarian or someone who just inherited his grandfather's maple syrup farm. And I've never once, not in seventeen movies and three series, fucked anyone from Human Resources."
A laugh broke loose. It cut off when she remembered Chad had actually—
Caleb watched her laugh fade, amusement sliding into his expression. "Here's the thing, April. Guys like that don't want forgiveness. They want attention."
April blinked. That hit. Too accurately.
"Everything's a performance with him. Every fight, every apology, he's playing to an audience that isn't even there."
"Exactly."
Something clicked into focus. Like she'd been squinting at it for three years and Caleb had just adjusted the lens.
"He used to say he was just 'keeping things light.'" Her voice soured on the last word. "But it was more like... if he was the one pulling focus, then he didn't have to answer for anything."
Caleb hummed, thoughtful. "And now you've taken away the laugh track."
April felt that land somewhere deeper than she wanted it to. "I think I cancelled the whole damn show."
"You know what I like about you?" Caleb said, studying her with that actor's focus
April gave him a sidelong look. "No, but this should be good."
"You've got what we call lead energy. Not the Heartland kind. Not the girl who slips on ice and learns to believe in Christmas. You’re the one who walks into a real movie halfway through and throws the whole thing off balance."
"So you're saying I'm not the girl who gets saved by twinkle lights, I'm the girl who accidentally burns down the town square?"
"You're not a passive romance heroine. You're the chaos agent who derails the plot."
"That doesn't sound like a compliment."
Caleb shrugged. "It's an observation."
April didn't have a response to that. Mostly because she was still trying to figure out if she'd just been insulted or diagnosed by someone whose professional credentials included teaching fictional women to milk cows in heels.
This day had gone so far off-script she couldn't even find the genre anymore.
Caleb glanced toward the boutique, then checked his watch. The universal signal of someone wrapping up a conversation they'd enjoyed but couldn't extend.
Liam stepped forward. "You heading in for a fitting?"
"Yeah." Caleb's gaze flicked back to them. "Got an appointment."
Caleb's gaze flicked between April and Liam, something clicking into place. His grin turned wicked. "Oh, you're the brother."
April rolled her eyes, "He's not the fake fiancé."
Liam said nothing.
Caleb caught her eye with the look of a man who'd just read the whole script in one glance and was enjoyed the plot twist.
"Chad has a styling appointment here in about twenty minutes," Liam said. "There's a particular purple suit I'd love to see him wear."
Caleb's laughed, delighted, like he'd just been handed the punchline before the setup and appreciated it anyway.
April blinked. "Are we really doing this?"
