Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Mel
“That took you long enough,” I said to Sam, as she and Cassy returned from the park restrooms. My voice sounded steadier than I felt, which was impressive, considering my insides were doing the cha-cha.
“Uncle Sean! Sam is my friend,” Cassy declared proudly, clutching Sam’s hand. “She’s gonna give me a—a stethoscope to listen to Pitou’s belly.”
A tiny laugh slipped out even as my thoughts spiraled. I’d just asked the Tahoe West Panthers’ head coach to pretend to be my date for one night. Not call a play, not fix a strategy, but to fake it with me.
Who was this Melanie Boyd, and where had she hidden the girl who used to say yes to uncomfortable shoes?
Like that time Vince took me to a friend’s backyard party and introduced me as “the future Mrs. Silvio” before I’d even decided if I liked the shrimp skewers.
I’d laughed, tucking away the small truth that I didn’t recognize the life he was selling.
The girl who folded under the weight of everyone else’s expectations, mistaking doubt for weakness, would never have dared this.
“That’s the plan,” Sam said while eyeing Sean and me.
Sean’s phone buzzed. He checked it, typed something, then turned to Cassy. “Sweet, we need to get going. Looks like it’s a drive-thru for dinner.”
“I want fries and ketchup!” Cassy cheered.
He grabbed her backpack, gave Sam a nod. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” Then he looked at me briefly, gave me a perfectly neutral nod, no smile attached, and walked away with his niece, leaving me perplexed.
My gut twisted as I watched him go, a frantic monologue playing on a loop. Did I just alienate my boss forever? Oh Lord, that was the second impulsive, emotional bomb I’d dropped on him since we met.
I untied my braid and redid it, not because it needed fixing, but because I freaking did.
Sam stood next to me, arms crossed, watching the world’s best drama unfold in real time.
“Do you remember that conversation while you packed for your first-ever trip with the team?”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t look her way.
“First, he was the grumpy coach, now he is the mysterious SUV rescuer, and he’s actually damn hot. But then he nods as if he’s leading a military operation.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Sam. He’s hot, maybe, but—” I stopped myself.
Too late. Her smug grin bloomed, a damn victory flag, and here I was, not knowing if the guy in question was even going to show.
Fake dating status: pending. Dignity status: already in flames.
I exhaled. “I asked you to meet me because…” My throat went tight. “Mom invited Vince to your graduation party.”
Sam’s whole face turned from gossip-hungry girl to stunned med student in zero-point-two seconds.
She sat beside me slowly. “She what?”
I nodded, swallowing a fresh wave of indignation warring with the anxiety of Sean’s silence. “Apparently, he’s in California visiting his parents, and she thought it’s a good time to give it another shot.”
Sam’s jaw clenched with a furious tremor. “Do you want me to uninvite him?”
“No, I want this to play out,” I said. “I need to show up happy and completely unbothered, even if I have to fake every second of it.”
“Wow. I knew Mom had her issues with optics, but to go this far?”
Disbelief was written all over Sam’s face as a storm gathered in her eyes. She didn’t just feel things—she took them apart, held them up to the light, and figured out places where things might break.
She studied my face. “And Sean… he seems like a friend?”
I didn’t answer because Sean hadn’t answered me either. And Sam had already guessed he was more than a friend. She’d read the room the way she usually did and was giving me space. I loved her for that.
The ride home was a blur. The evening passed in a haze of me wondering what Sean was thinking.
The next evening found me in front of my bedroom mirror, curling my hair and trying not to overthink the fact that I’d agreed to dine with the Tahoe West head coach—my possible fake date, but still very handsome.
The text had zinged in mid-party-supply run with Sam, our redemption mission after last weekend’s lemon-napkin blowout. Good thing I’d stopped at the store each day after work to buy a few things, until today we finished the shopping. We were at the check-out when a text came through:
Sean: Picking you up at 6PM for dinner. Hope that’s okay.
That was it. No emoji, no explanation. My insides had done a full pirouette.
I adjusted the strap of a black flounce dress.
It had multicolored florals, short sleeves, and stopped above the knee.
Safe, not whispering I might own a karaoke machine.
I added a spritz of vanilla amber (you never know when you might need to smell your best), a soft liner to my eyes, rose lipstick, a tiny purse, and a loose curl in my hair that said, “I tried, but not too hard.”
At 5:55, I slipped out the back door, sneaking off to commit emotional fraud.
He was on time, of course. Coaches always were.
I slid into the passenger seat, pulse doing the cha-cha again. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he said, and started the car.
His forearms flexed on the wheel, dark button-down rolled to the elbows, black watch snug on his wrist. Steady, carved lines of strength, calm in motion—a very attractive, unbothered rock who got my pulse doing hot flips.
“You didn’t say where we’re going.”
“Figured I’d let it be a surprise.”
Oh, great, mystery. As if I wasn’t already barely holding it together. I exhaled, reminded myself this was just a dinner with my fake date who hadn’t said yes, but he’d shown up, and that was screaming “It’s maybe happening.”
The restaurant was in the middle of downtown Sacramento, near the Convention Center—brick walls, string lights, soft jazz in the background, polished enough to make me aware of my hair, my shoes, my everything. The hostess greeted Sean as a regular, and I was the tagalong in someone else’s world.
She walked us to our table, Sean pulled out my chair for me, and I tried not to read too much into that. The menu was a novella. I skipped duck confit and words I couldn’t pronounce to find what was familiar, like chicken.
My pulse, which hadn’t slowed since I walked out of the house, continued its little flutter under my collarbone.
Sean didn’t speak right away; he let me sit in my quiet panic. We ordered wine for both of us; I was clearly going to need it. Then he finally leaned forward, elbows on the table, looking all coach-on-a-mission. Surprisingly, the worried lines I saw on his forehead at the rink were gone.
“I didn’t say yes yet,” he said.
“Okay,” I managed.
“If I do this, show up as your date, there are consequences. I’m in the media spotlight, and they don’t stop at game scores. They’ll dig into you, into us.”
That pulled me up a bit straighter. “Right…”
“Sometimes the media asks personal details. Most of it rolls off, but if I show up with someone, especially during playoffs…” He shrugged. “They notice.”
“So you’re saying if you pretend to be my boyfriend at Sam’s graduation party, I should be ready for out-of-context questions?”
He smirked, a slow curve of his lips. “Even if we say nothing, they’ll say something. It spins fast, and your name won’t be the only one dragged into it.”
I stared at him, surprised by how thoughtful he’d been. While I’d been focused on using him as a human shield against my ex, he’d been calculating potential fallout for me. He was more than good at coaching; he was good at reading me, and that was its own kind of attractive.
“Wow. Okay. It feels like I ran from the rain and landed in the river with flash photography.”
He cracked a warm smile. “Not the worst metaphor I’ve heard, plus I’m a very good swimmer.”
The waiter came. We ordered. Chicken for me, a creature of habit, and steak with way too many adjectives for him, a man of refined taste. His knee brushed mine as he adjusted himself. A faint, accidental touch, but it still made my pulse skip.
Sean leaned back, eyes steady on mine. “Tell me about the ex.”
“Seriously?”
“To fake a date, I should know the stakes.”
I stared down at my silverware, suddenly unsure if I wanted to unpack this in a cool restaurant with soft jazz playing overhead. But if I were pulling him into the fire, he deserved to know how hot it burned.
I let out a breath and faced him. “Vince was someone I thought I’d build a future with. We were engaged, then he picked a job over me.” I looked away, pretending the condensation on my glass was more fascinating than his eyes. “That was two years ago.”
He didn’t interrupt. He listened, offering a slow, steady nod.
“He’s dropping back into my life again. For him, it’s no big deal, but it’s not about him anymore. It’s about what he left behind, about my mom’s interference,” I continued, feeling the familiar tightness in my chest.
Sean’s jaw ticked. “That couldn’t have been easy,” he said quietly. “Now your mom thinks she’s paving the way for you, but she’s digging a hole in it.”
“Yeah.”
“And you want a fake date to prove you’ve moved on?”
I met his gaze, chin tilting. “No. I want a fake date, so no one assumes I haven’t. It’s an important distinction.”
We let the moment stretch. The click of utensils, the low hum of voices, and soft music were all background noise I barely heard over my own pulse. I took a sip of wine, then set the glass down.
“How about you?”
His brow lifted. “What about me?”
I met his gaze, pulse kicking. “Your own dating history.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, like he hadn’t expected me to flip the script. I could tell he’d planned this dinner to ask the questions, not answer them. He took a long breath, eyes steady on mine.
“We’re talking about fake dating each other. You might as well know more than what the media’s already put out there,” he said.
I kept my eyes on his face and waited.
“I never talk much about my marriage. It’s not something I like to rehearse. Not because it was ugly—that wasn’t the problem.”
His voice stayed even, but there was a weight in it that held me still.
“Evie was sweet and funny; she worked in event marketing, lots of travel and networking. We met at a charity event she helped organize. Back then, we handled each other’s pace, and for a while it worked. We had six good years.”
He paused, gaze drifting. “She put off having kids for her career, and I didn’t push. Then, right when we finally agreed to start trying, she had a fling on a work trip. She explained, I listened. One of those mistakes you can’t take back, but the trust was gone.”
His thumb pressed against the base of his glass, the only thing keeping his hand still, it seemed. I braced for what would come next, aware I’d stirred up a raw memory without knowing what would surface.
“I’d stayed quiet, finished the season, and six months later filed for divorce. It took another fifteen months to make it official.” He glanced back at me, and a shrug lifted his shoulder. “That’s all of it.”
I studied him for a moment, wondering how something said so calmly could carry so much finality.
“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. “Even if you both know it’s over, it takes time to settle all that.” My words echoed my own sting. “Guess I know a little about that feeling. The way my ex behaved…it’s different than a marriage ending, but it still leaves you with raw memories.”
The server came to ask if we needed anything else, which we didn’t, and she drifted away.
“I wasn’t expecting you to share all that,” I said softly.
“Didn’t mean to turn dinner into a story hour,” he replied with a faint smile. “But you asked.”
I let out a light laugh. “I didn’t realize how much I wanted to know.”
His gaze held mine. “I’m glad you didn’t hold back.”
“Me too. Thank you for telling me.”
Something fluttered in my chest, unexpected, but welcome.
After dinner, the spring air had cooled, but I barely noticed as my heart was doing a frantic tango of anticipation. The night was ending, and he still hadn’t given me the golden ticket to one-time “fake date” status.
He unlocked the passenger door and I slid in, smoothing my dress as if that could quiet the hummingbird convention flapping in my stomach. He rounded the front, slid in beside me, and shut the door with a soft, final click that made everything inside the car feel more intimate.
He turned toward me, his arm resting loosely on the console—winning armrest flirting, hands down. “It’s fake,” he said, voice rumbling, “but it started after we kissed. So, kisses are part of the deal, right?”
My heart went full fan leap, trying to reroute blood to every nerve in my body, as slow, inevitable heat crept up my neck. His “yes” came with a flashing “More Kisses Ahead.”
I swallowed, eyes darting to the windshield, then back to him. “Yes. They are.”
His mouth twitched with a smile, his secret handshake.
“Good,” he said, the word, a warm brush against my skin. Then he eased the car into drive.
After that unexpected confiding, I felt more connected to my fake boyfriend and more confident about faking a date at my sister’s graduation party.
Sean was becoming very real now that I knew an intimate part of his history very few people probably knew.
And if I wasn’t careful, I’d completely forget which parts we were pretending.