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We reached for a tiny jar of jam at the same time, and our fingers brushed. I froze. Roman’s hand just… stayed there, like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

He was doing this on purpose. Every look. Every pet name. Every hand graze. It was all part of his mission to ruin my life one goddamn flirt at a time.

And yet, my pulse remained steady. I didn’t feel like I was about to implode or apologize for existing. I felt fine. Better than fine.

I felt like me.

We kept walking. My shoulder bumped Roman’s again, and this time, I didn’t move away. When we reached the tomato stand, I grabbed one and inspected it closely. Across the street, a trolley rumbled past, packed with tourists taking photos of everything, even this market, as if they could capture what it felt like to actually live here.

And then I saw Eric, holding hands with a woman who looked like she brewed herbal tinctures naked in the moonlight and made eye contact with her sourdough starter...

His yoga instructor.

Of course.

“Maggie?”

Roman went still beside me, his whole posture shifting from lazy ease to subtle tension. I didn’t move. He stepped forward, cool as ever. “Hey, man. I’m Roman, Mags’s boyfriend. We’re trying this local organic cooking thing. Very primal. Lots of meat.”

My mouth opened to explain, but before I could speak, Eric extended his hand. “I’m Eric. Maggie and I, uh, used to live together.”

Roman raised an eyebrow and looked at me.

I nodded, my palm sweat sticking to the tomato. “Eric’s my ex.”

Eric motioned to the woman beside him. “This is Bianca.”

She barely glanced up. “Pleased to meet ya,” she said, chomping her gum obscenely.

Frowning, Eric looked between us. “You sure moved on quickly.”

I smiled sweetly. “I was about to say the same.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. You’re actually dating him?”

Roman slid his arm around my waist and yanked me in with a confidence I hadn’t emotionally consented to.

“Can’t believe you let this one get away, Eric,” Roman said. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Guess she just needed a real man by her side.”

And then, God help me, he kissed me.

It wasn’t fast. It definitely wasn’t innocent. It was thorough. His hands stayed on my waist, fingers flexing like he meant it. His mouth was warm and confident and terrifyingly good at this fake boyfriend thing. My knees actually buckled. The tomato slipped from my hand and rolled across the ground like it, too, had given up.

Just before I closed my eyes and gave in to the moment—you know, for science—I saw Eric’s mouth open and close.

Roman finally pulled away, completely unfazed. “Nice meeting you,” he said. “We have to go marinate things.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled me with him like we were going to go have aggressive farmer’s market sex. We didn’t stop until we’d turned a corner and left the scene of emotional arson behind. Down the road, a street performer strummed a guitar, singing a folksy version of “Landslide” that somehow made everything feel all the more unreal.

Half a block passed in silence, and the heat of that kiss still clung to my skin like static.

Finally, Roman said, “You okay? You’re not mad over the kiss, are you? I just assumed you’d want to make Eric insanely jealous, but I might’ve judged incorrectly.”

I didn’t look at him. My cheeks were still on fire. My brain? Gone. Dignity? Still rolling around somewhere by the tomato stand.

“Umm…” That was all I had. Just umm.