Chapter 12
No Opting Out
Grayson
Isee the notification before Kate does.
Mrs. Everly has already tagged us in the comments. Of course she has.
Can't wait to see you both there! Our favorite couple! ??
I set my phone down and stare at it like it's a live grenade.
The town has made a decision. We're a unit now. Expected to show up together. To perform this relationship they've written for us.
And skipping it will only make things worse. People will speculate. Wonder why we're hiding.
Assume there's drama or secrets.
In a small town, absence speaks louder than presence.
I know this. I've lived in enough small towns to understand how they work.
Kate's footsteps come down the stairs. That same soft hum from last night—something I still can't identify.
Her mood has lifted since the casserole incident, probably because she spent the last hour making her room look less like a prison cell.
New teal throw blanket. The small succulent from Patel's on the windowsill.
Even a colorful rug on the cold wooden floor.
She walks in, phone in hand, and freezes. "Did you see the fundraiser post?"
I nod.
Her face pales. "We're expected to go. Together."
"I know."
"Grayson." She sets her phone down carefully. "This isn't just gossip anymore. There's going to be a crowd. People watching us. Expecting us to—" she gestures vaguely. "Act like we're actually together."
"I know," I say again.
She starts pacing. I wait.
"What do you want to do?" I ask.
"Not go. Hide in this cabin until everyone forgets we exist."
"That won't work."
"I know it won't work!" She throws her hands up. "But the alternative is going to a town event and pretending to be your girlfriend in front of everyone!"
"Is that really so terrible?"
Her eyes go wide. "Yes! Because it's not real. Because we're lying."
"We're not lying. We're not correcting assumptions."
"That's the same thing!"
"It's not."
She glares at me. "You're infuriating."
"So I've been told."
Kate drops into a chair. "I have to go, don't I."
Not a question. She already knows.
"Probably."
"Why?"
I consider how much to say. "Because you're working here. Meeting clients. Representing Evervolt. If you want to rebuild your reputation—if you want Maxwell to see you as capable—you need to connect with this community."
She looks at me. "That's surprisingly logical."
"I have my moments."
"What about you? Why would you go? You hate town events."
"I don't hate them."
"You avoid them."
"That's different."
"Is it?"
I don't answer. Because she's right. I do avoid them. The questions. The attention. The moment someone asks what I do and I have to decide how much truth to share.
But if Kate goes alone, people will ask why I'm not there. Whether we had a fight. That creates more gossip than just showing up.
"I'll go," I say.
She blinks. "You will?"
"On one condition."
"What condition?"
"We stick to your rules."
She nods slowly. "No touching unless necessary. No lying beyond what's required. No surprises."
"Exactly. And we leave early."
"Fine by me."
"And if things get uncomfortable, we adapt."
"Adapt how?"
"I don't know yet. Small-town events are unpredictable."
She doesn't like that. I can see it in the way her fingers drum on the table.
"I don't like surprises," she says.
"Neither do I. But we can't control everything."
"I can try."
Despite myself, I almost smile. "Yeah. You can."
She stands and squares her shoulders like she's preparing for battle. "Okay. We'll go. Together. Following the rules."
"Agreed."
"But if Mrs. Everly asks about wedding dates, I'm throwing you under the bus."
This time, I do smile. "Fair enough."
—
Saturday arrives faster than I'd like.
I spend the afternoon doing anything to avoid thinking about the event. Chopping wood. Fixing the loose shutter on the cabin. Organizing tools in the garage.
Kate spends it trying on different outfits. I know this because I can hear her upstairs—drawers opening and closing, hangers scraping, the occasional frustrated sigh.
At five-thirty, she comes downstairs.
I look up from the book I'm pretending to read.
And forget how to breathe.
She's wearing a dark green dress. Deep and rich, the kind of color that shifts with the light. It skims her figure without clinging, falls just above her knees. The neckline is simple—it frames her collarbone without trying. The fabric moves softly when she does.
The color pulls warmth from her hazel eyes, making them brighter.
Her hair is down, loose waves over her shoulders, brushing her collarbone when she moves.
She hasn't done much with makeup. Clean skin. Dark lashes. Her lips a muted pink.
She looks beautiful. The quiet kind. The kind that doesn't announce itself.
I keep my expression neutral.
"Is this okay?" She tugs at the hem, smoothing the fabric. "Too much? Not enough? Should I change?"
I take a breath. "It's fine."
Her brows knit. "Fine?"
"You look nice."
She lets out a short laugh. "Nice." Then, "Wow. I feel seen."
I set the book aside and stand. Step closer—not enough to crowd her, just enough that she stills.
"You look great, Kate. Really."
Her shoulders drop. Relief softening her posture. "Thanks." Her gaze flicks down, then back up, slower. "You clean up pretty well yourself."
I'm wearing dark jeans and a button-down. I'd shaved. Used actual product in my hair. Worn the good boots.
"Ready?" I ask.
She takes a deep breath. "As I'll ever be."
—
The town hall is already full when we arrive.
Tables along the walls covered in baked goods and silent auction items. String lights from the ceiling. A local band playing in the corner. People talking, laughing, moving between clusters of conversation.
Warm. Intimate. The kind of event where everyone knows everyone.
Which means everyone will notice us.
I sense Kate's discomfort the moment we walk in. She stiffens. Her breathing quickens slightly.
I move closer—not touching, following the rules—but close enough that she knows I'm there. Close enough to shield her from the immediate attention.
"Grayson!" Mr. Henderson waves from across the room. "You actually came!"
I nod, keeping my expression neutral.
"And you must be Kate!" His wife Martha rushes over. "We've heard so much about you!"
Kate smiles, tension in her shoulders. "It's wonderful to meet you both."
"Grayson never brings anyone to these things," Martha continues, linking her arm through Kate's like they're old friends. "You must be very special."
Kate glances at me. I give her the smallest nod. Permission.
"He's pretty special too," she says. Natural. Easy.
I'm impressed.
We're swept into the crowd. Introductions to people I barely know. Everyone wants to meet Kate. Everyone has something to say about us.
You two make such a lovely couple.
Maybe it’s time Grayson stops living alone.
How did you meet?
Kate handles it better than I expected. She smiles. Deflects. Stays close without touching.
But I can see it wearing on her. The constant attention. The assumptions.
I stay near. Close enough to let people assume. Far enough that I maintain some control.
No one asks if we're together.
They just declare it.
We're a fact. Part of the town's social fabric.
And there's no going back from that.
—
An hour in, Kate excuses herself.
I watch her go. Then exhale slowly.
This is harder than I expected.
Not the pretending. That part is surprisingly easy.
What's hard is watching her smile and perform for people who think they know us. Watching her field questions about our relationship with grace and humor when I know she'd rather be anywhere else.
"She's wonderful," Mrs. Patel says, appearing beside me with a cup of punch. "You're a lucky man, Grayson."
"I know," I say.
And I mean it.
"We've been worried about you," she continues. "Seeing you up there alone all this time."
"I'm fine being alone."
"Maybe. But you're better with her."
I don't have a response.
Because she might be right.
Kate returns a few minutes later, looking more settled. She catches my eye across the room and gives me a small, quiet smile.
And I realize something I'm not ready for.
This doesn't feel like pretending anymore.
It feels like something real.
Something I'm not ready to name.