Chapter 4 Jason
JASON
Istood with the dish towel clenched in my fist.
The diner buzzed around me. Forks scraped plates. A kid two booths down wailed, “My toast is touching my eggs.”
Fiona leaned over the register. “Jason. Hey. Table four wants to know if ‘spiritual awakening level spicy’ is a joke or an actual option.”
I didn’t move.
The voices around me blurred into a single low hum. My brain replayed the scene again and again.
Emily walking in. Emily seeing me. Emily pretending not to flinch. And then Emily turning to go.
She’d kept her voice so steady, like she’d practiced it on the drive here. Her shoes had clicked across the tile with clean finality, and then the bell above the door had sealed it.
She came back just to leave again.
I couldn’t make it make sense.
Levi popped his head out from the kitchen, apron stained with something orange. “You gonna stand there and brood all day, or do we need to call in an understudy?”
Fiona raised an eyebrow. “He’s in his tragic hero arc. Let him finish.”
“Tragic hero?” I said. My voice came out rough, like I hadn’t used it in hours. “I’m not—”
Levi’s voice drifted out from the kitchen. “You gonna go get her or what? It’s not like anyone else good applied for the position.”
That did it.
I dropped the towel on the counter and bolted out the door.
The sun hit my face. I scanned the sidewalk, heart pounding hard enough to feel stupid. She hadn’t made it to her car yet.
Good. I still had time to ruin this properly.
I stumbled over faster than I meant to.
Her face closed off the second she saw me.
I raised one hand and stopped a few feet away. “Wait. Please.”
She folded her arms. “If you’re here to tell me I was great but you’re going with someone else for the position, don’t bother.”
“I’m not,” I said. “You have the job. If you want it.”
“Seriously?” she asked.
I nodded. “The position is real. And you’re qualified. Overqualified, probably. The job is yours if you want it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s the catch?”
“There isn’t one,” I said. Then my brain betrayed me.
I saw Aunt Ophelia’s face clear as day, heard her voice reminding me of that deadline she’d set.
Be in a real relationship by the end of the month, or she’d sell the diner.
My diner. The place I’d poured everything into.
The clock was ticking. If I didn’t figure this out soon, I wasn’t just going to lose a building.
I was going to lose the one thing that still felt like home.
I ran a hand through my hair. “Actually. You’re going to hate this.”
“That’s promising.”
I looked at her. Really looked. Her shoulders were stiff. Her grip on the folder was tight, knuckles gone pale. She wasn’t in the mood for games.
“Remember that school play we did?” I said.
Her brow furrowed. “The Hungry Caterpillar? We were, what, eight?”
“Yeah. We pretended to be something we weren’t.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Jason. What are you trying to say?”
“My aunt,” I said. “Ophelia. She’s coming back next week.”
“Okay…?”
“She told me five years ago she’d leave the diner to me if I proved I’d built a stable life. That meant running the business, which I’ve done. And being in a committed relationship. Which I haven’t.”
Emily stared at me like I’d started speaking another language.
“She wants proof,” I said. “Romance. Receipts. Matching aprons, probably. She threatened to sell the place if I’m still single when she gets here.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish.”
She blinked. Then blinked again. “So let me get this straight. You’re offering me the job and asking me to pretend we’re back together?”
“Only while she’s in town,” I said. “Just enough to make it believable. You’d be helping me deal with her.”
Emily made a sound that tried to be a laugh and failed. “Jason. This is insane.”
“I know.”
“You want me to fake date my ex-boyfriend, and you think that won’t be complicated?”
“No,” I said. “I think it’ll be very complicated. And painful.”
“Well, at least you’re honest.”
A seagull screamed from a nearby lamppost.
“The job is real,” I said. “Paid. Yours, whether or not you agree to the other party. Although if you don’t agree, my aunt sells the diner and none of us has a job.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “This is emotional blackmail.”
“It’s desperate flailing wrapped in mutual benefit.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Hypothetically. If I agreed to this circus, there would be rules.”
“Of course.”
“Temporary. This is for Ophelia only. No public displays of affection unless required. No sleepovers. No gross couple nicknames.”
“I would never.”
“No emotional sabotage. No rehashing the breakup. And if you smirk when I have to hold your hand in front of your aunt—”
“I’ll cry,” I said. “Loudly. In public.”
She sighed. “And the job is really mine?”
“Really. Salary. Title. Dental if you stay past thirty days.”
She looked down at her folder. Then back at me.
“This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever agreed to,” she said.
I held out my hand.
She took it.
The handshake lasted longer than it should have. Her hand felt warmer than I remembered. Mine didn’t want to let go.
We released each other at the same time.
“Come by around 10 pm after closing,” I said. “We’ll work out the details.”
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll be back.”
“And you don’t have to wear a suit,” I said. “Something comfortable. It’s the Lighthouse Diner.”
She smiled despite herself. “Thank God. My shoes are killing me.”
“Welcome to the team,” I said.
“I’ll see you later,” she said, walking toward her car.
A seagull shrieked again as she opened her door.
I stood there with sunlight in my eyes, watching her leave, wondering if this was the smartest terrible decision I’d ever made.
It probably was.