Chapter 19
nineteen
. . .
Brandon
“You look nice,” I say, leaning against the doorframe as I watch Stella tidy my bed with careful precision. “Big plans this morning?”
She's fully dressed and clearly operating on multiple cups of coffee, wearing dark jeans that actually fit her curves instead of hiding them, paired with a soft pink sweater that makes her eyes look impossibly blue.
Her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and there's something apologetic about the way she's smoothing my comforter.
“Coffee. With my mom.” She fluffs the pillows one more time before turning to face me. “I'm really sorry, but I need to borrow my boyfriend for an hour.”
“Let me check my call time—”
“You don't have to be there until eleven.” She's already moving to straighten the items on my nightstand, clearly feeling guilty about commandeering my space. “I already checked. I'm sorry for being presumptuous.”
“You checked my schedule?” I can't help but grin. “That's very girlfriend-like of you.”
“Don't get smart with me.” But she's fighting a smile as she adjusts my alarm clock. “She keeps asking when she'll see you again, and coffee seemed like the most painless option. Quick, public, minimal opportunities for embarrassing stories about my childhood.”
I watch her fuss over my nightstand, trying to leave it exactly as she found it, and something warm spreads through my chest. She's been staying here for days, but she's still treating my space like she's a guest who doesn't want to overstep.
“You know you don't have to put everything back perfectly, right? You're allowed to exist here.”
“I just don't want to mess up your routine.” She pauses, biting her lip. “And I really am sorry for volunteering you. I was hoping I could get away with vague boyfriend references, but she's more persistent than I anticipated.”
“Give me five minutes to change into something that screams 'worthy of your daughter.'“
When I emerge in dark jeans and a navy henley, Stella's waiting by the door, looking relieved rather than terrified.
“Perfect timing!”
We both turn as Caroline appears from Stella's apartment. Despite the early hour, she looks like she stepped out of a Southern Living magazine. Her cream cardigan is perfectly pressed, and she's practically glowing with anticipation.
“Good morning, Caroline,” I say, automatically reaching for Stella's hand. “Ready for some coffee?”
“Oh, I've been looking forward to this!” Caroline's face lights up as she takes in our coordinated casual outfits. “And look at you two! You match without even trying. Isn't that sweet?”
Stella squeezes my hand once, a silent thank you for playing along.
“I found the most charming little café just around the corner,” Caroline continues, already heading to the elevator. “Perfect for getting to know my daughter's boyfriend better.”
As we follow her, I lean close to Stella's ear. “See? Painless.”
“We haven't gotten to the interrogation part yet,” she murmurs back.
This should be fun.
As we round the corner toward the café, I catch sight of a familiar figure through the window: Mason, sitting at a table near the front, laptop open, completely absorbed in whatever he's working on.
Stella sees him at the exact same moment, and her grip on my hand tightens. I can practically feel her panic over the situational shit show we're in. We're meant to be boyfriend and girlfriend in front of her mother, but not at all in front of Mason.
That's when I spot our salvation in the form of a small table in the back corner that's about to be vacated by a couple gathering their things.
“You know what, Caroline?” I say, smoothly guiding us toward the door while dropping Stella's hand as naturally as possible. “Why don't you grab that table before someone else does? Stella and I can handle the coffee orders.”
“Great idea,” Caroline says.
Stella shoots me a look of pure gratitude as her mother heads to the back table, completely oblivious to the fact that she's just been expertly maneuvered away from witnessing whatever's about to happen between her daughter and Mason.
“You're a genius,” Stella whispers.
“Just don't let me down,” I whisper back, giving her a gentle push toward the counter.
The coffee shop is exactly what you'd expect from a place that charges seven dollars for a latte.
Exposed brick, plants hanging from the ceiling, the kind of carefully curated, rustic vibe that screams, “We're artisanal!” It's busy enough that we won't stand out, but not so packed that we can't move around.
“Oh, God, he looks really good. Is that a new shirt?”
“It's a gray t-shirt, Stell. Pretty standard.”
“But it fits him really well.”
I glance over. She's not wrong. Mason looks like he was designed by someone with excellent taste in men.
“You ready?” I ask.
Stella nods, but she's holding my hand again, and the grip says she has no intention of letting go anytime soon.
“I think it might look better if you let go of my hand.”
“Oh, shit. I'm sorry.” She looks up at me, and for a minute, neither of us makes a move to untangle from each other. It's like, for a moment, we both realize how natural this feels.
We reach the counter, and Stella orders. While we wait for our coffee, I can see her shoulders starting to tense up again, so I place my hand on her back, just between her shoulder blades, and give her neck a gentle squeeze.
“Breathe, sunshine,” I murmur, quiet enough that only she can hear. “You've got this.”
She relaxes slightly under my touch, and I feel her take a deeper breath.
“Stella,” the barista calls out. She takes her drink, turns around with what she probably thinks is casual surprise, and stops mid-step. Mason has looked up from his laptop and is staring directly at her.
“Oh! Hi, Mason,” she says, her voice about an octave higher than usual. “I didn't see you there.”
He smiles, the kind of warm, genuine smile that makes it obvious why Stella's been obsessing over this guy. “Hey, Stella. Nice to see you outside the building.”
“Yeah, I love this place. The coffee's great.” She gestures vaguely with her cup. “This is my friend Brandon. Brandon, this is Mason.”
I bite back a grin as Mason stands, clearly entertained. “Good to see you again, man.”
“Right,” Stella says, her voice a whisper. “You two know each other.”
“Likewise.” I turn to Stella with a grin. “That reminds me. I mentioned to Mason that you're a trivia whiz.”
Mason's face lights up. “He did! And I wanted to see if you would be interested in trivia tomorrow night? Eight o’clock at 33 Taps. Feel free to bring friends if you want to. It's more fun with a lot of people.”
Stella's face brightens immediately. “I love trivia! That sounds really fun.”
“Great. I hope you’ll come.” He starts packing up his laptop. “I should probably get going, but I'm really glad we ran into each other.”
“Me, too!” Stella says, her voice still pitched slightly higher than normal.
He waves goodbye and heads out, giving us both a friendly nod as he passes. I watch Stella track his movement through the window until he disappears from view. Then she turns back to me with a grimace.
“Well?” I ask as we make our way back toward Caroline's table.
She slumps slightly, her shoulders deflating. “That was terrible. I was so awkward.”
“You were fine. A little nervous, maybe, but he didn't seem to notice.”
“He invited me to trivia but said I could bring friends. That's not exactly romantic.”
“It's an opening. First contact. You build from there.”
We reach Caroline's table and settle into our chairs. She looks up from her phone with mild curiosity.
“Who was that handsome young man you were talking to, dear?”
“Just a neighbor from our building,” Stella says, reaching for her coffee.
Caroline's eyebrows lift slightly. “Well, I hope you made it clear you're not available. He seemed to be flirting with you.”
Stella's eyes find mine across the small table, and something in her expression shifts. Her hand slides across the table to cover mine, and our fingers intertwine with a naturalness that catches me off guard.
“Don't worry, Mama,” she says as her thumb traces my knuckles. “I know exactly what I want.”
Her voice is soft, meant for her mother, but her eyes stay locked on mine. There's something in her gaze that makes my chest tight.
“Brandon's the only man I'm interested in getting to know better.”
The way she says it, still holding my gaze, makes it impossible to tell where the performance ends and something real begins. Her fingers tighten slightly around mine, and for a moment, I forget we're supposed to be pretending.
My thumb traces across her knuckles without conscious thought, and I watch her pupils dilate slightly in response. The space between us feels electric.
Slowly, reluctantly, she turns back to her mother, but her hand stays tangled with mine on the table. Her fingers squeeze gently, and I'm left wondering if that declaration was purely for Caroline's benefit or if there was something real underneath that perfectly delivered performance.
Because nothing about the way she said it felt like part of our charade.