Chapter 3
Levi
Fake dating should not feel like this.
It should feel controlled. Strategic. Manageable.
It should not feel like I’m standing on the edge of a structure fire with gasoline in my veins.
Sadie Marshall is currently holding my hand in the firehouse parking lot.
“Relax,” she murmurs without looking at me. “You look like you’re being marched to execution.”
“I don’t relax on command.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. Warm. Familiar. Dangerous.
“That’s because you have control issues,” she says sweetly.
“I don’t have control issues.”
She glances up at me. “You just growl at church ladies and glare at cupcakes.”
“They were weaponizing frosting.”
She laughs, and it hits me low and hard, like it always used to.
We’re walking toward the station doors. Crew members linger near the engines, pretending not to watch.
Sadie swings our joined hands once. Casual. Comfortable.
It shouldn’t feel so natural.
“You’re stiff,” she says.
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I’m committed to the bit.”
Her thumb traces absent circles against my palm.
“You’re playing with fire, Hotshot.”
She smirks. “Good thing you’re trained to handle it.”
Inside, the bay falls quiet in that way only a room full of nosy firefighters can achieve.
Ash whistles low. “Well, look at that.”
Sawyer leans against the engine with a coffee mug. His eyes track our hands like he’s evaluating structural integrity.
“You two look like you’re five seconds from either kissing or committing a felony,” he says calmly.
Sadie beams. “We’re just practicing.”
“Practicing what?” Axel asks.
“Believable couple body language,” she answers without hesitation.
Every eye turns to me.
I keep my expression neutral. Professional.
“She’s assisting with community optics,” I say flatly.
Sawyer lifts a brow. “Community optics.”
“Yes.”
Sadie squeezes my hand again.
I don’t pull away.
“You look real,” Axel says.
“We are real,” Sadie shoots back, then catches herself. “For ninety days.”
The room erupts in low chuckles.
“Blink twice if she’s blackmailing you,” Ash mutters to me.
“I’m not being blackmailed.”
Sadie leans into my side deliberately, her shoulder brushing my ribs. “He volunteered.”
I did not volunteer.
But I also didn’t stop her.
“Okay,” Sawyer says, sipping his coffee. “Just know if this explodes, we’re filming it.”
Sadie blows him a kiss.
I guide her toward the hallway before she escalates things.
“You’re enjoying the audience,” I murmur once we’re out of earshot.
“I enjoy a good performance."
“That’s not what this is.”
She tilts her head. “You sure?”
I stop walking.
She bumps lightly into my chest. Too close.
“You want believable?” I say quietly.
Her breath catches.
“Yes.”
I slide my hand from hers to her waist.
Firm. Intentional.
Her eyes darken.
“This is believable,” I murmur. “Hand-holding is high school.”
Her pulse jumps beneath my thumb.
“Levi,” she warns softly.
“You set the terms,” I remind her.
Her fingers curl into the front of my T-shirt.
“Public affection,” she says.
I lean closer. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Her chin lifts in defiance. “You don’t intimidate me.”
“No?”
My thumb drags slightly along her hip. Just enough to test.
Her breath stutters. “Not even a little.”
“Liar.”
We hold the stare one beat too long.
She steps back first.
“Practice over,” she says lightly.
But her voice is not steady.
By the end of the week, we’ve developed a rhythm.
Parking lot hand-holding.
Shared coffee cups from The Devil’s Bean.
Inside jokes resurrected from the ashes of high school.
“You still hate mushrooms,” she says one evening as she steals fries from my plate at the diner.
“They’re fungus.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“You’re still bossy.”
She grins. “You loved that.”
I don’t answer. Because I did. I still do. That’s the problem.
The town gossips and firehouse crew watches everything. Every brush of her fingers against my arm. Every time I automatically move closer when someone bumps into her.
Sawyer corners me near the lockers.
“You sure this is fake?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.”
He studies me. “You look like you’re restraining yourself from something.”
“I am.”
He snorts. “Good luck with that.”
The real test comes when she shows up at my cabin unannounced one night.
I open the door to find her standing there in fitted jeans and a cropped sweater that does nothing to help my breathing.
“Evening,” she says brightly.
“It’s eight.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you here?”
She steps past me like she belongs here. “Field training.”
I shut the door slowly. “Explain.”
She drops her bag on my couch and looks around critically. “This place screams emotionally unavailable bachelor.”
“It is an emotionally unavailable bachelor’s cabin.”
“Exactly.” She walks into the living room and starts rearranging furniture.
“You can’t just—”
“I can,” she interrupts. “If we’re going to sell this relationship, I need to know how you move in your own space.”
“I move fine.”
She picks up a throw pillow and tosses it aside. “You move like a man who’s been alone too long.”
I cross my arms and watch her. Big mistake. She bends to adjust the rug. My jaw tightens.
“You’re staring,” she says without looking up.
“You’re trespassing.”
“Semantics.”
She straightens and faces me. “Sit.”
“I’m not a dog.”
“Sit, Levi.”
I don’t know why I obey. She studies me from across the room.
“We need natural touch,” she says. “Casual proximity.”
“You’ve had plenty of that this week.”
“In public. This is private.”
“That’s against the rules.”
She steps closer. “We’re establishing credibility. My car in your driveway accomplishes that.”
“You sure you just don’t want to spend time with me?” I smirk.
Her hand comes to rest lightly on my chest. Over my heart. The contact is simple. Devastating.
“You’re so…tightly wound,” she says softly.
“You’re in my house.”
“You invited me in.”
“I did not.”
“You didn’t say no.”
I grip her wrist gently but firmly. “Careful.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re underestimating what this does to me.”
Her eyes flicker. “Does what?”
“You standing here like you belong.”
She goes still.
For a second, neither of us breathes.
She swallows. “It’s fake.”
I step closer. “Stop saying that.”
Her back brushes the edge of the couch.
“And if it stops being fake?” she whispers.
My control fractures. I plant my hands on either side of her, bracing against the couch.
She tilts her face up. Challenging. “Levi.”
“Sadie.”
“You’re crowding me.”
“You’re still here.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt again. That small tell. That familiar claim.
“You can’t scare me off,” she says softly.
“I’m not trying to scare you.”
“What are you trying to do?”
I lean closer, not touching her lips, not quite. “Remind you what you walked away from.”
Her breath catches hard. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither was leaving.”
The words land heavier than I intend.
Her eyes flash. “You think that was easy?”
“I think you chose the world over me.”
“I chose myself.”
“You could’ve had both.”
She pushes at my chest, but not hard enough to move me. “You don’t get to rewrite history.”
“You don’t get to pretend it didn’t break me.”
Silence slams down between us. Our breaths mix. Heat builds. She looks at my mouth. I see it.
“You’re going to kiss me,” she whispers.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I start, I don’t stop.”
Her pulse races under my thumb. “You always were dramatic.”
“And you always underestimated me.”
She lifts her chin. “Then show me.”
The invitation is reckless. I drop my forehead to hers instead. Close enough to feel her. Not enough to cross the line.
“You wanted rules,” I say quietly. “Private lines not crossed.”
Her fingers slide up my chest. “That rule was your idea.”
“You agreed.”
She smiles faintly. “You’re the one losing control.”
I pull back slightly, just enough to look at her fully. “You have no idea how much.”
She goes quiet. That’s the first crack in her composure. The first sign she feels it too. I step back slowly. She exhales like she’s been holding air for minutes.
“Terms and conditions,” I say evenly. “If we do this, you don’t walk away again.”
Her throat tightens. “This is fake dating.”
“Not for me.”
She freezes. The words hang there. Not a confession. But close.
“You’re changing the rules,” she says softly.
“No,” I reply. “I’m clarifying them.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then she straightens her sweater, regains that sharp edge she hides behind.
“Fine,” she says lightly. “We’ll revisit this clause later.”
I step toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“To get air.”
She laughs softly. “You’re running.”
I look back at her.
“You wanted believable.”
“I do.”
“Then understand this, Hotshot.” My voice drops low. “This may have started as a game.” Her breath hitches. “But I don’t play to lose.”
For the first time since she walked back into my life, I see uncertainty flicker across her face.
Not fear. Not regret. Something deeper.
I open the door and step out into the cold mountain night.
Because if I stay in that room one more second—the fake part is going to burn away completely.
And what’s left?
That won’t be practice.
That will be war.