Chapter 5 #3
“How could you possibly know that?” I narrow my eyes.
“You’ve got the kind of calm that only comes from liking the color of the sky.”
The line should make me roll my eyes. Instead, it lands somewhere between my ribs, catching on the edge of a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
For a second, the noise of the café fades—just him and me and the hum of something I’m not ready to name.
He clears his throat, breaking whatever spell we’re in. “So, fake girlfriend, what time’s dinner again?”
“Seven.”
“Plenty of time to make you fall for me first.”
I laugh too loudly, and it earns a look from the barista. “You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“Not highly,” he says, grin crooked and disarming. “Just honest.”
I close my laptop because pretending to focus is pointless. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah.” He leans back, watching me with that serene smile that shouldn’t feel this intimate. “But you’re still here.”
He’s right, and that realization hits me harder than it should.
I glance at the clock. 6:12. I should go.
I should get ahead of this before it spins any further out of my control.
But when he stands to pull my chair out for me, his hand brushes against the small of my back, and every coherent thought I have goes quiet.
Outside, the sky’s turning violet, and the reflection in the window catches us both: me trying to remember how to breathe, him smiling like he already knows I’ll fail.
For one dangerous heartbeat, I let myself imagine this isn’t pretend.
And that’s the problem because, for the first time since this morning, I don’t feel like I’m faking anything at all.
He opens the door for me, hand brushing mine as I pass. The evening air is cool and damp, carrying the smell of rain and roasted coffee. I suck in a steadying breath, trying to shake off the warmth still clinging to my skin.
“So,” he says, falling into step beside me, “are you heading home before dinner?”
“I have to change.” I hesitate, fingers tightening around my bag strap. “You can follow me if you want, or…” My voice trails off. It sounds ridiculous before I even finish the thought.
He looks at me, one brow raised, like he’s already ahead of me. “Or?”
“Or you could just—” I clear my throat, pretending this isn’t a big deal. “Ride with me. It’d be weird showing up in separate cars when we’re supposed to be dating.”
For a beat, he just watches me, and then the realization hits him.
“Oh,” he says slowly, that smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You mean for the drive to your mom’s place.”
My cheeks go hot. “Obviously. Where else would I mean?”
His mouth curves into a dangerous smile, like he absolutely knows where his brain went first. “Your apartment. It seemed like the logical assumption.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s mostly for show. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He flashes that easy smile again, the one that turns my stomach into a pretzel. “How about I follow you to your apartment instead? Just text me your address in case we get separated.”
“Good thinking.” I pull my phone from my bag, thumb flying across the screen.
“Elevator boyfriend.” His laugh is low, all warmth and mischief.
“How else was I supposed to save you in my contacts?”
“By my name, like a normal human? It’s Kyle, by the way.”
“What is?”
“My name is Kyle.” He tilts his head. “But keep Elevator Boy; it makes me feel special. I don’t feel so bad for how I saved you in mine.”
“What did you save my number as?”
I stop walking, realizing I’ve wandered to the driver’s side of my car without even noticing. The key fob is in my hand, but I don’t unlock the door. My heart kicks a little harder as he leans against the car beside me, that teasing smile still in place.
He doesn’t answer my question; instead, he motions toward the parking lot exit with his hand. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”
I nod, forcing a smile I don’t feel, because he’s already straightening and stepping back toward the row of parked cars. He turns, lifting two fingers in a lazy half wave, and something in my chest dips.
He might change his mind. He could hop into his car and drive away, never to be heard from again.
The thought lands harder than it should.
I tell myself it’s because this—whatever this is—wasn’t supposed to matter.
He’s supposed to be a complication I’m managing, not someone who makes me feel seen in ways I can’t explain.
But watching him walk away now feels like losing something I don’t have words for yet.
“Just in case,” I call after him, holding up my phone. “You have my address.”
He stops mid-step and turns slowly. Instead of continuing toward his car, he walks back to me like he never planned to leave in the first place. He steps close enough that I can see the rain clinging to his lashes, his voice dropping to something soft and dangerous. “I’ll find you either way.”
And then he leans in and presses a light, almost casual kiss to my cheek. “See you soon, sweetheart.”
The words curl through me long after he’s gone, lingering in the air like the scent of rain and espresso. I watch him walk toward the other end of the parking lot with his head tipped slightly toward the ground. My heart does the stupidest thing: It waits for him to look back, and he does.
And I’m not sure what scares me more. That I wanted him to look at me one last time, or that I knew what Maria said earlier was right. I’m in so much trouble.