Chapter 16
Emergency protocols for when your heart rate exceeds flight parameters
Finn
I woke to my phone buzzing with a text, the sound cutting through the early morning quiet of Alex’s guest room. I squinted at the screen. Six-fifteen—earlier than my usual wake-up time, but apparently my older sister had opinions about yesterday’s photo.
Elowyn: FINALLY. Mom’s going to lose her mind. Bring her home soon.
I opened Instagram, where the single image I’d posted the night before had accumulated more attention than anything I’d shared since my discharge.
Alex and me on the overlook, her hand resting against my chest, both of us caught in the blissful moment where we’d forgotten we were pretending.
The caption I’d settled on was simple: Life keeps surprising me.
RanchLifeWithLou: Well look who’s been holding out on us. She’s beautiful, Finn. Really beautiful.
Lou’s comment sat at the top of a dozen others—a mix of congratulations from old Navy buddies, heart-eyed emojis from Dom’s Hollywood friends who’d found my account, and questions from ranch acquaintances who wanted to know when they’d get to meet my girlfriend.
north.hollywood.pt: dude! thats the catalyst studios boss!? lucky bastard.
My mouth hitched to the side as I scrolled through the rest—mostly positive, with people mentioning they hadn’t realized I was seeing anyone. The notification count kept climbing as I watched. Dating Alex came with a certain amount of public interest I hadn’t anticipated.
My phone buzzed again with a text from Alex.
Alex: posted 3 pics to my personal account last night.
Alex: family group chat has achieved critical mass. may actually explode.
I grinned despite myself, imagining the mayhem her family was probably inciting.
Alex’s social media strategy was more complex than mine—she maintained two Instagram accounts, one for Catalyst Studios that showcased client work and industry inspiration with very few photos of herself personally, and a private personal account for family and friends.
Her professional LinkedIn rarely got updated, and she’d mentioned dabbling in TikTok and Bluesky, though I got the impression she found most social media exhausting.
My approach was considerably simpler. Instagram for the occasional sunset photo or hiking trail, dormant Facebook I’d stopped checking months ago, and LinkedIn that still listed my active-duty status because updating it felt too final.
Me: How bad is the damage
Alex: Jason sent 8 cry-laughing emojis. Diana used the word “cute.”
Alex: Mom called at 6 to ask if I was sure you’re not a vegan hippie. 6!!
Alex: Dom reposted your photo to his story with about 50 flame emojis.
Alex: we’re officially part of the Walker-Zanetti publicity machine now.
The thought should have been unsettling—my private life becoming content for Dom’s very public one. Instead, I felt satisfaction at having accomplished exactly what we’d set out to do.
Me: Any regrets about posting them
Three dots appeared and disappeared several times before her response came through.
Alex: ask me after we survive tonight.
I set my phone aside and padded to the kitchen, where the smell of coffee was already filling the air.
Alex was at the counter wearing soft sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt she’d cut the neck out of, one shoulder bare.
Her hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head, her glasses sliding down her nose as she focused on her overly-elaborate coffee ritual.
I was determined to figure out cold brew when we got back so she wouldn’t have to go through so much trouble every day.
“Morning,” she poured coffee over ice cubes. “Tony wants to know your thoughts on brisket versus pulled pork.”
“Both,” I sat on one of the counter stools. “Always both when given the option.”
She turned with a slight smile, stopping her own coffee prep to fill a mug and slide it across the counter. “Good answer. Tony will approve.” She paused, fingers drumming against the counter. “So, the photos…”
“Were perfect,” I finished. “Even Lou approves, and she’s been giving me grief about my social media presence since I got back.”
Something flickered across Alex’s expression—too quick to interpret fully, but it looked like satisfaction mixed with something sharper. Like she was pleased about Lou’s approval but surprised by how much it mattered to her.
“Your family seems excited,” I took a sip of coffee and watched her carefully.
“That’s one word for it,” she rubbed the bridge of her nose under her glasses. “Marcus wants to know if you play video games. Diana tried to ask if you have any single brothers without sounding like she was fishing. Mom’s planning a very thorough and invasive interrogation.”
“And you?”
She met my eyes over her coffee, taking a sip through the straw. “I think we’re about to find out exactly how good we are at pretending.”
Her tone suggested she meant more than just fooling her family, but before I could dissect it, she set her coffee down and reached for her phone.
“Speaking of, we should probably take a few more. Casual morning stuff. Complete the narrative.”
“More photos?” I moved around the counter toward her, the request feeling less like work and more like an excuse to touch her again.
“Domestic bliss, remember?” She lifted her phone along with one eyebrow, checking the light streaming through the kitchen windows. “These don’t need to be perfect. Just... real.”
Real. I stepped behind her, close enough that I could smell her shampoo—green tea and mint instead of something generic—and wrapped my arms high around her waist, the weight of her breasts resting against my forearms. My chin found the right spot on her shoulder, the height difference working in our favor as she held up the phone to capture us both in the screen.
“Like this?” I was already settling deeper into the position—my chest pressed against her back and my fingers curling into her soft curves.
“Like this.” I caught the slight breathiness in her voice.
The camera captured us—Alex in her glasses and messy bun, me still rumpled from sleep, both of us looking like we belonged exactly where we were. She adjusted angles and I pressed a soft kiss to her cheek between frames, the gesture as natural as breathing.
“These are good,” she murmured, scrolling through the images. “Very convincing morning-after energy.”
She leaned back into me as she edited and posted an image to her stories and mischief sparked in my chest. My fingers found the ticklish spot just below her ribs, earning a surprised squeak that turned into genuine laughter.
“Finn!” She twisted in my arms, phone all but forgotten as she tried to escape my hands. “That’s not fair!”
“All’s fair in love and fake dating, babe,” I grinned as I caught her around the waist again, spinning her to face me. “Besides, now we have photos of you actually smiling instead of looking like you’re solving all those complex equations in your head.”
She swatted at my chest, but her eyes were bright with laughter, cheeks flushed pink. “I don’t look like that.”
“You absolutely do. It’s very cute. Very intimidating.
Very you,” I brushed a strand of hair that had escaped her bun away from her face, my fingers trailing down to her collarbone.
Something caught my attention—ink and texture beneath my fingertips that I hadn’t noticed before.
A small tattoo on the left side of her chest, just low enough to be partially hidden by her shirt.
The kitchen felt smaller, warmer, like the rest of the world had narrowed down to just this space between us.
Then her phone erupted with the distinctive chaos of a family group chat reaching peak activity.
“Showtime,” Alex muttered, stepping back just enough to glance at the screen, though she didn’t fully pull away from me. “They want us there by five for ‘proper introductions’ before the other guests arrive.”
She spoke slowly while she typed her response. “We’ll get there… when we get there…. Bringing... fruit... salad…. Love you.”
I laughed. “Your poor mother.”
“She’ll survive,” she looked up at me with a mischievous glint. “Besides, she’s known I’m like this for the last forty-two years. Not my fault if she doesn’t remember.”
I checked my watch—roughly eight hours to mentally prepare for my debut as Alex’s boyfriend in front of the people who mattered the most to her.
Eight hours to figure out how to be convincing without examining too closely why it felt less like acting and more like showing them how I really felt about her.
“Ready for this?” Alex studied me.
“Define ready,” I replied with a lop-sided grin, which earned me a surprised laugh.
She relaxed slightly. “Guess we’ll both find out.”
Alex pulled to the curb but didn’t cut the engine, her knuckles white against the steering wheel.
I followed her gaze to the large, traditional-style home across the street—all red brick and an impeccably maintained lawn.
It probably had a formal dining room and enough bedrooms for half the neighborhood.
The smell of grilled meat drifted through our open windows, mixing with the sound of voices and laughter that carried on the evening air.
Suddenly Jason appeared, practically sprinting across the front lawn, followed by a small battalion of children ranging from toddler to pre-teen.
At least a dozen kids thundered past in pursuit, along with two very enthusiastic Yorkies.
The whole pack disappeared around the side of the house in a miniature stampede, complete with battle cries that would’ve made my old squadron proud.
“Finn, listen,” Alex turned to me, her face solemn, right hand playing with one of her oversized clear acrylic earrings. “Whatever I’ve told you, I promise it hasn’t adequately prepared you for what we’re about to walk into.”