Chapter 4
We roll to a stop in front of a restaurant in downtown Sheridan, the soft glow of string lights spilling out onto the sidewalk like a warm invitation. I look out the window, eyebrows pinching.
“I thought we were going to a bar?”
“There’s a bar in there,” Liam says casually.
“You know what I mean.”
He just grins, that infuriatingly confident one that makes my stomach do stupid things.
“Figured since I’m asking a lot of you, the least I could do is take you out to dinner.”
Dinner. Sure. No big deal for him. Just a meal before we start faking a relationship to secure a business deal. Me? I’m secretly spiraling. Because fake or not, this feels a lot like a date. And worse, it feels like one I’ve wanted for a long time.
“Come on, honey,” he says, tapping my knee with his knuckles. “We’ve got a reservation.”
Before I can respond, he’s already out of the truck, rounding the front like he’s done this a hundred times. He opens my door and extends a hand, palm up, waiting. Expecting.
I take it because what choice do I have?
But when I try to let go, his grip tightens just enough to keep me close. Not too much. Not forceful. Just intentional.
“We’ve got to make this look real, Olive,” he murmurs, voice pitched low like a secret meant just for me even though there’s no one around.
Mission accomplished, I think, because my heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid he might actually hear it. Every step we take toward the restaurant feels heavier, more charged.
Inside, the scent of warm bread, garlic, and tomato sauce hits me like a hug, and my stomach lets out a traitorous growl. Liam hears it and glances sideways, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth, but thankfully doesn’t say anything.
“You picked Italian,” I say quietly.
He shrugs, leading me toward the hostess stand like it’s no big deal. “I figured you’d be hungry after working so hard today. And you love this place.”
I blink. Because Liam Stone? He hates Italian food. But I love it. And the fact that he remembered twists something deep in my chest. Fake or not, this feels dangerously real.
We’re led to a table tucked away near the back, where the lights are softer and the noise fades to a gentle hum. It’s intimate, and it feels like the kind of place couples go when they don’t want to be overheard.
Liam pulls out my chair like a perfect gentleman, the smooth scrape of wood against tile sending a ripple down my spine.
I murmur a thank you and sit, trying not to let my skirt ride up too far.
He takes the seat across from me, stretching out like he owns the whole damn restaurant. And I hate how sexy it is.
A server appears almost immediately, all smiles and syrupy charm directed solely at Liam.
“What can I get you to drink, sir?” she asks, voice sweet as spun sugar. Her gaze doesn’t so much as flick in my direction.
She’s tall, blonde, probably wears perfume that smells like vanilla and has effortless confidence. She’s totally Liam’s type. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in a blouse that might be a little too tight and boots I can’t decide if I love or hate.
But Liam doesn’t take the bait. He looks up at her and then right at me.
“What would you like, honey? Gin and tonic?”
My breath catches. Not just at the pet name, which he tosses around too easily, but at the way he says it now. Like it means something. Like I’m the only one here.
“Uh, yeah. That would be great,” I manage, throat suddenly dry.
He turns back to the server, who’s clearly annoyed by my continued presence. “Two gin and tonics.”
But he doesn’t stop looking at me. Instead, he reaches across the table and takes my hand in his, warm and steady. His thumb brushes over my knuckles once, just a small, absent motion.
But it sends a jolt through me like a live wire.
I try not to show how much it affects me, but my pulse is a drumbeat behind my ribs, and I’m dangerously close to forgetting that this whole thing is fake.
Finally, I murmur, “She’s gone.”
Liam lets go of my hand and leans back shaking his head. “She was a bit rude. Didn’t even acknowledge you.”
“Hate to break it to you, cowboy, but that happens all the time.” I give him a look. “Can’t believe you’ve never noticed before.”
His brows furrow. “It doesn’t.”
“It sure as heck does.” I shake my head, smiling to soften the blow. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
But the truth is, I shouldn’t be. But when you get overlooked enough times, you learn to laugh first. It hurts less that way. At least on a surface level. Because it hurts no matter how much you pretend it doesn’t.
Liam’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something else, but the server returns, balancing a tray with our drinks and interrupting whatever moment was about to happen.
“Would you like to order?” she asks, barely glancing my way.
Liam looks at me.
I nod, slipping back into business mode.
“I’ll have the five-cheese ziti,” I say, handing her the menu. “And a side salad. No dressing.”
Liam hands his over, too. “I’ll do the same.”
I blink. He hates pasta. But he says nothing, just watches the server walk away with zero interest this time. I bite back a laugh.
“Well,” I say once we’re alone again, “I guess we should come up with a story.”
“Story?”
“You know,” I say, picking up my drink. “For when Teddy asks how long we’ve been dating.”
“Oh. Right.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I didn’t think that far ahead.”
Of course he didn’t. He’s the leap-first, look-later type. But something in his voice makes me think he’s not just forgetting logistics. He’s starting to realize how many details he doesn’t actually know about pretending to be with me.
He grins, leaning back like he’s just solved the world’s greatest mystery. “Okay. I’ve got it.”
“Oh, this ought to be good,” I tease, arching a brow.
“We met working together,” he says, slow and dramatic, “and somewhere along the way we fell in love.”
“Mmmhmm.” I take a sip of my drink, eyeing him over the rim. “And why exactly didn’t we tell Teddy that when you had your meeting?”
Liam doesn’t miss a beat. “Because we’re trying to keep it quiet just in case it doesn’t work out. Plus, with Sam’s wedding coming up, we didn’t want to steal the spotlight.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, suppressing a smirk. “Very thoughtful of us.”
He nods solemnly. “We’re considerate people.”
“And when did you realize I was more than just a coworker?”
I take another sip, waiting. Wondering if he’ll say something that’ll make my heart do that dumb, fluttery thing again.
He hums, thoughtful. “Probably when you didn’t shoot down my ‘more mounts than a rodeo cowboy’ t-shirt idea.”
I snort. “Solid reasoning. Very romantic.”
“Well, give me time. I’ll come up with something sappier. We’ll circle back.” He leans in slightly, eyes gleaming. “So… we’ve been together a few months. First date was at Sam’s concert in Broken Heart Creek.”
“Smart,” I say with a nod. “There are enough tabloid photos of us from that night to make it believable.”
I can still remember the flashes in our faces, and people asking Liam who he was with. He named off everyone in our group, but the photos posted were of the two of us.
“Exactly.” He winks.
I ask, “Where was our second date?”
“My bed.”
I make a face. “Seriously?”
He just shrugs, unapologetic. “What? Sometimes I don’t even make it to a second date before things heat up.”
“Lovely.” I roll my eyes. “I hate to break it to you, boyfriend, but I’m not that kind of girl.”
“Pity,” he murmurs, all mock sorrow, before giving me a grin that’s far too amused. “Alright then. You tell me. Where did I take you on our chaste, deeply respectful second date?”
I lift my chin, holding his gaze. “You took me stargazing. Out on the ranch. Blanket in the bed of your truck. Just us, the sky, and that ancient thermos of yours that somehow always tastes like campfire and cheap bourbon.”
Liam stares at me for a beat, the grin slipping just slightly, like maybe that idea hit a little closer than he expected.
“That’s good. Romantic and thoughtful.”
I take another sip of my drink, and glance down, cheeks warming. Great. At this rate, I’ll finish the whole thing before the breadbasket even makes it to the table.
Then, like he’s just asking about the weather, he says, “What about kissing?”
My head snaps up. “What about it?”
He lifts a shoulder, casual as ever. “Are you prepared to kiss me in front of Teddy?”
I laugh. “Why on earth would I need to kiss you in front of him?”
He flashes a wolfish grin. “Because we’ll be staying at their home for a few weeks. Didn’t I tell you that?”
My lips part. “You most certainly did not mention that.”
He winces, then gives me a shrug so unapologetic it could be trademarked. “Oops.”
“Oops?” My voice jumps an octave.
“Come on, Olive.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes dancing. “You didn’t really think this would be a one-dinner-and-done kind of arrangement, did you?”
I stare at him. Because no, I didn’t. But also? Yes. I absolutely thought that we’d get by without PDA.
“So,” he says again, like we’re back to ordering appetizers, “kissing. Yes or no?”
My heart does a ridiculous lurch, and I can’t tell if I want to laugh, cry, or climb under the table and disappear. If I’m being honest, I desperately want to kiss him. But the real problem isn’t the kiss. It’s that the second his mouth touches mine, I don’t think I’ll be pretending anymore.
I decide to flip the tables on him.
“What about you?” I ask, voice light.
He blinks. “Me?”
“Yeah.” I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “How do you feel about kissing me?”
Something shifts behind his eyes. The air in the room thickens, like we’ve crossed an invisible line we weren’t supposed to notice.
“Hard to say,” he says slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Guess we won’t know until we try it.”
I huff out a laugh, hoping it sounds casual instead of desperate. Cool. Chill. Totally not picturing his mouth on mine.
“You don’t just try out kissing someone, Liam,” I say, aiming for mockery but landing somewhere closer to breathless.
He leans forward, his voice dropping to that rough, honeyed drawl that always ruins me. “Then tell me, honey. How does one kiss?”
His tone curls around me like smoke, and heat licks low in my belly. My fingers tighten around my glass. I should say something clever. Disarm him. But my brain is officially short-circuiting.
I shake my head, trying to stay upright in my own skin. “You can’t plan it. It just has to happen. It has to feel right.”
He hums under his breath, slow and deliberate, like he’s filing that information away.
“Sounds like kissing’s on the table, then.”
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
Because the way he’s looking at me? It’s not fake.
Not even a little bit. And now I don’t know if we’re still playing a game or if we just crossed into something dangerously real.
And the real kicker is that I’m okay with kissing being on the table.
The server arrives at that exact moment, setting steaming plates of pasta in front of us and shattering the tension like glass. I exhale, grateful for the interruption I didn’t know I needed.
We fall into silence as we eat, the only sounds between us the clink of silverware and the indistinct murmur of other diners. For a moment, it almost feels normal. Comfortable. Like this really is a date.
Then Liam clears his throat. “We’ve got a few weeks before we fly out to Texas. Maybe we should have a few more pretend dates between now and then.”
I lift an eyebrow. “How many are we talking?”
He shrugs, too casual. “Six?”
I nearly choke. “Six? I don’t even go out that much with a real boyfriend.”
His fork pauses mid-air. “Are you seeing someone, Olive?”
I blink. “What? No.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Just watches me.
“I just meant that when I’m in a relationship,” I explain, “I usually only see the guy on weekends. We’re both busy. It’s easier that way.”
“Why not during the week?” he asks, voice low.
I shoot him a look.
“Because my boss is kind of demanding,” I say dryly. “And I never know when there’s going to be some emergency that has me rushing to his place.”
Liam smirks, and just like that, the air lightens again. “Hey, I can’t help it if I like company during Mario Kart showdowns.”
“You only like company when you’re winning,” I mutter, taking another bite.
“False,” he says, pointing his fork at me. “I also like company when I’m rubbing it in after I win.”
I roll my eyes, but the smile tugging at my lips refuses to leave. No matter how much I try to play it cool. And the truth is I don’t mind his emergencies. Not even a little. I like being the one he calls. The one he counts on. The one he needs.
But not everyone has felt that way. A few of my exes made it painfully clear that being Liam Stone’s right hand came with a cost they weren’t willing to put up with. The unpredictable hours. The late-night texts. The way I’d drop everything when he needed me.
Apparently, that kind of loyalty looks a lot like something else.
“Speaking of Mario Kart,” he says casually, “you should come over. We could play a few rounds.”
I lift a brow. “It’s supposed to rain tonight.”
“So?”
“So,” I say pointedly, “I don’t want to get trapped on the ranch.”
He scoffs. “One woman gets stranded in a flood and suddenly it’s folklore.”
“Didn’t the surveyors literally say it could happen again?”
He waves a dismissive hand like that’s beneath his concern. “That’s Sam’s problem now.”
“And it’ll be mine if I end up stuck in a barn with no cell signal and a goat staring at me in judgment.” I pause, then add with a grin, “Besides, Lura’s teaching me how to make peach cobbler tomorrow.”
His expression drops into mock betrayal. “You’re standing me up for an eighty-year-old woman?”
“She’s almost ninety,” I correct, biting back a laugh, “and yes.”
He lets out a dramatic sigh, hand over his heart. “The betrayal. I also want to point out that you wouldn’t be stuck in the barn with the goats. You’d be in the house. With me.”
God, how I wish he meant those words in a different way.
I say, “I’ll bring you cobbler when I’m done.”
His eyes light up like I just offered him gold. “Good. That’ll count as a date.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how dating works.”
“Honey, everything’s a date when you’re trying to fall in love.”
And just like that, I forget how to breathe.
Because I know he’s joking.
I know he is.
But for a second, my heart forgets this is all pretend.