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I shifted in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, you did."

He studied me for another second before leaning back. "Guess I got lucky."

I wanted to believe he was flirting. That would've been easier to deal with. Flirting was familiar territory, and I knew how to handle it.

Sincerity was another matter entirely.

Damon Lockhart kept proving to me he wasn't nearly as careless with people's feelings as his reputation suggested. At least not with mine. And I had absolutely no idea what to do with that information.

Across the dance floor, I saw Deacon and his wife, Jenna, talking to Dean, Felicity, and Selma.

"Your family's pretty great," I sighed.

Damon followed my gaze. "Don't let them hear you say that. They'll get cocky."

"I'm serious."

"So am I,” he double downed. “You should see them at Christmas."

"That bad?"

"Worse. My mother starts decorating before Thanksgiving, Dylan eats everything that isn't nailed down, and somebody always ends up arguing over the football game."

"Sounds terrible."

"You'd hate it." He said it with a smile, but the thought of spending Christmas at Lockhart Ranch settled somewhere in my chest before I could dismiss it.

That was hazardous territory. I had no business imagining holidays with Damon or his family. We weren't a real couple, no matter how convincing we'd become at playing one.

I could feel his stare on me before he said, "They like you."

My stomach tightened. "They barely know me."

"Doesn't matter."

"That's not the best yardstick for evaluating people."

"Works pretty well for us."

I shook my head. But I couldn't stop smiling.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

The band had moved into a slower set. Couples drifted together beneath the lights, and I spotted Julissa wrapped in her new husband's arms near the center of the dance floor.

She looked happy. Not the carefully arranged, camera-ready version she'd been wearing all afternoon. This was different. Her eyes were closed, her cheek rested against his shoulder, and she seemed completely unaware of everyone around her.

Before I could stop, I pictured myself on the dance floor. In a white dress. Dancing with Damon at our wedding. Which was insane. It was certifiable.

Damon was my fake boyfriend. Temporary. An arrangement. A convenient solution to an inconvenient problem. Nothing more.

Except he was sitting beside me when he could've been dancing. He'd brought me water. He'd listened when I said I was tired and accepted my no without making me feel guilty about it.

The bar for men was apparently buried somewhere beneath the earth's crust, because I found all of that disturbingly attractive.

"You've been quiet for almost five minutes. Should I be concerned?" Damon's voice pulled my attention back.

"I am capable of silence."