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I don’t mean to be rude, but I guess she can tell from my expression that this is not my bag.

“Here,” she says, holding up what looks to be blueberry syrup and offering a hand to take my drink cup. I hand over the latte she’s made me and she removes the lid, squeezing in so much syrup, I’ll have to play at least twenty-two minutes of ice time to burn it off.

“Try it now,” she says.

Okay, I have to admit, matcha laced with blueberry syrup is a delight and this time, I moan my appreciation around the mug, which delights Jenny, who subtly – I’m sure she thinks – knocks a hip to the left and pushes out her chest as she smiles.

I feel a new need to protect Sienna’s honor. It’s kind of odd but I’m a team guy; I protect my pack. Okay, our relationship is fictitious and all but woman to woman, if Jenny knows that I’m hitched to my minion wife, her behavior is not okay.

It gives me an idea for later, actually, as I glance down to the bare fourth finger of my left hand.

“This is good, thanks, Jenny. So good, in fact, could I get another to go, please, for my wife?”

I think it’s safe to say that Jenny was flirting with me and no, she respectfully had no idea that I’m already with someone else. Off the market. Bachelor days done. No more meaningless sex with people I’ll never call back, no matter whether the sex is hot or not. In truth, no more sex, because my current relationship is what I would define as monogamous celibacy. A lose-lose sort of arrangement.

Still, it feels good to have backed Sienna. For as long as it lasts – eight weeks and counting – I’m not willing to disrespect her, embarrass her, or make a fool of her. Her dickhead ex did that enough for a lifetime.

Which is the other reason I’m now heading along the sidewalk to surprise Sienna after her evening class. Because if I don’t force this issue, she’s not going to wear my ring and after her run-in with Carl at the weekend, she deserves a flashy ring. Not least for surviving me for three months. I’m coming to realize that maybe I have a few bad habits that wouldn’t be desirable to even a roommate, let alone the other half of a couple.

I don’t know, maybe it’s good to live your life the way you want to but this whole PR stunt is making me question – occasionally, a tiny bit – the way I’ve been living mine.

I’m leaning up against a streetlamp, with dusk descending around me. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed the way the streetlamps slowly flicker to life as the sky turns dark enough. I’ve never stopped and watched these things, always been focused on a game, the league standings, stats or training, or a screen. It’s kind of cool actually, the way the island starts to come to life.

When I was studying philosophy, I became obsessed with the idea of stillness. At first I thought philosophers meant happiness and inner peace would come from being still – sitting quietly staring into space for long swathes of time. And I thought, why the hell would that make me happy? It was my professor who equated the concept back to sports and ever since, I’ve tried to reach this idea of stillness – heightened focus on only one thing at a time. It’s been hard because I’m an active guy, physically and mentally, so when things aren’t going my way on the ice, thoughts I don’t want creep in. All the years Dad was on my back, telling me I wouldn’t ever be good enough if I didn’t do this or that. But staring at the streetlamp now, I feel locked in. Waiting to surprise Sienna, I feel… calm.

The Long Island evenings are noticeably cooler now as we’ve slipped into fall. Leaves on the trees are starting to turn shades of yellow, amber and red in this suburban street. It’s warm enough that I can wear a light jacket, rather than a coat, but I’m still wearing full-length pants and a long-sleeve button-down.

I suspect Sienna is going to be wearing her Pilates kit or some kind of activewear still after class, so I didn’t want to overplay it and make her feel uncomfortable but this is an occasion in our imaginary love quest, so I’ve made a little effort. Replaced my usual ruffled flow by styling my hair and spraying some of my flirt potion.

I’m waiting for less than a minute before Sienna heads out of the studio, flanked by two other women wearing similarly tight-fitting leggings and tops. Neither of them wear it quite so well as Sienna. If our relationship wasn’t accidental, she’d be the kind of woman I’d have fallen for. Like, if I had a type, I’m pretty sure Sienna is it.

Not the perfectionism and her fiery temper when I’m behaving far from perfect, though. That’s a whole world of trouble for me. I’m actually starting to wipe down surfaces in my own home!

Sienna’s so busy chatting with the other women that she doesn’t notice me until one of her friends nudges her. Then she glances my way and fuck knows why, but the soft smile she gives me feels genuine and warm and it comforts something somewhere deep in my gut.

I raise my chin to her friends and they say their goodbyes to Sienna. She glances to the takeout cups in my hands as she makes her way to me. “What are you doing here?”

“First, I’m giving you a blueberry matcha latte. Proof that I’ve tried your green crap and found a pleasant way to stomach it.” I hold out the cup. “I thought you’d like to give it a try.”

She takes the cup from me with thanks, then gives me a thumbs-up when she sips the drink. “The sugar syrup probably negates the health benefits,” she says, with a soft laugh that seems to light up her entire face, which is flushed and glowing, from class, I think.

“Second,” I say, fighting an urge to tuck wisps of her hair behind her ear, even though this rare less-than-perfect look is cute on her. “I’ve come to take you shopping.”

She looks left and right along the street, like a kid learning to cross the road. “Shopping? Where? What for?”

I grin. I suspected she’s not the kind of woman who likes surprises, so I was going to tell her where we were going but given her tone, I think I’m going to surprise her instead.

“You’ll see,” I tell her. “And yes, before you gripe at me, you’re dressed perfectly for it. In fact, looking sizzling hot is ideal.” I gesture to myself. “As you can see, I also dressed the part.”

She drops her head back laughing heartily. I like that I can break that severe armor she wears. I take the sports bag slung across her shoulder and despite the fact it’s fuchsia pink, toss it over mine. Then I offer her my elbow and, while raising one eyebrow suspiciously, she loops her arm through it.

“Are we walking?”

“We are. To my car.”

Further down the street, we slip into my car and start the drive into Manhattan, where Tiffany’s has agreed to stay open late, exclusively and privately for Sienna to choose the kind of wedding ring she deserves. The kind that will stop her ex thinking he has any sort of upmanship on her.

The kind that tells the world she belongs to me.