Chapter 25 Feral Goat
Twenty-Five
Feral Goat
Nora
Over the next few days, I busy myself with OneDate updates, answering emails, and clocking long shifts at Porter’s until my feet ache and my brain finally quiets.
It works, mostly. I tell myself this is how it’s supposed to be.
Back to normal. I’m here to play a role, to show up smiling and be supportive, to be his fake date for one more night in front of his family.
That’s it. Just a favor. I change my outfit for the third time and catch my reflection mid-frown.
“This is ridiculous,” I tell myself.
It’s only games and dinner with his family who I’ve hung out with a few times already.
There’s no reason to smooth imaginary wrinkles from my shirt.
I shake my head and grab my jacket, trying to dislodge the warmth curling through me.
This is exactly why I shouldn’t be nervous.
It was only sex. Something I’ve done with other men.
And yet my heart flutters when I think about how he checked in with me.
That’s the part that sticks. Not the pleasure.
Not the kiss. The care. Even though he’s the one without experience, he wanted to make sure I was enjoying myself.
Ten minutes later, I’ve already sucked down half a dozen Fireball candies as if they’re anti-anxiety meds and paced my studio apartment so many times I’m pretty sure I’ve worn a groove into the floor. I stop in front of the mirror and stare at my reflection.
“Get it together,” I whisper.
I’ve been on real dates. Ones with actual stakes and I never spiraled like this. This is supposed to be easy. And yet my insides keep spinning like I’m on a merry-go-round that won’t stop. I’m mid-pep talk when a sharp knock hits my door.
“Coming!” I call, yanking the door open.
Miles stands in the hallway, and my breath immediately hitches. He looks the same, but not. Same khakis, same polo, but his posture is more confident. His hair is slightly mussed, as if he ran a hand through it one too many times, and when his eyes meet mine, they soften.
“Hi,” I manage, my brain finally catching up.
“Hi,” he replies. We stare at each other for half a second too long. Then he clears his throat. “Ready?”
“Yeah. Totally. Very ready.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. Good. He didn’t notice the panic, or the Fireball breath, or the fact that my pulse is trying to escape my body. I throw on my jacket and lock the door behind me, stepping into the hall beside him. Fake date. Nothing more. I can do this.
Melanie’s living room glows with a warm lamplight.
The faint scent of melted cheese hangs in the air and makes my stomach growl.
Throw blankets spill over the arm of the couch, the TV murmurs softly in the background—everything about the space feels like an invitation to stay awhile.
The moment Miles and I step inside, the room erupts.
“NORA!” Mallory shouts first, popping up from the couch like she’s been waiting all day for us to arrive. She crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into a hug. “You made it!”
Before I can even answer, Melanie is right behind her, smiling wide. “Hi, Nora. Oh my gosh—you look adorable. Where did you get that jacket?”
I barely manage a thank-you before two of the kids barrel toward me, one grabbing my hand while the other launches straight into a dramatic story about a missing game controller. And then—
“Miles?” His mom’s voice is warm with surprise.
I turn just in time to see her near the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. Her gaze flicks from him to me, and her smile widens.
“Nora.” She steps closer. “It’s so good to see you again.” She pulls me into a gentle hug—the kind that screams “we approve of our son’s dating choices” without needing to say it out loud.
I want to say, “and this time with more clothes,” but I refrain. No need to make it any more awkward.
The next thirty minutes blur by in conversation and laughter before we all settle into the living room for games.
I end up on the floor with a Scattergories timer buzzing angrily beside my elbow while his family passionately debates whether feral goat counts as a legitimate answer for things found on a farm.
“Plus,” Mallory adds, “it’s two words. And you cannot just slap a hyphen in there and call it one.”
“A hyphen absolutely makes it legitimate,” Greg argues. “Group vote.”
Mallory sighs. “Okay, hands up if feral-goat counts.”
Only Miles’s dad raises his hand.
“Vetoed,” she declares instantly.
Greg grumbles but crosses the word off his list.
Jackie pats my arm with a gentle smile, like I’ve just been initiated into a very loud, very opinionated secret society. “You see what I deal with?”
I smile back, but something inside me twists. I’m lying to this woman. To all of them. And the longer I sit here, the heavier it feels.
“Your turn, Nora.” Miles nudges my knee gently with his.
I flinch before I can stop myself. “Yeah—okay.” I grab the die, even though my brain has split into two competing channels—one having far too much fun, the other screaming that this is a terrible idea.
I toss it onto the table, and it lands on C.
I set the timer, and we scribble until the buzzer shrieks.
“Things you don’t want to find in your bed,” Melanie announces.
“Chipmunk,” I say when it’s my turn.
Miles tips his head back and knocks his glasses slightly crooked. “You can’t just name any animal that starts with a C.”
“It’s a true story,” I insist. “I woke up to a chipmunk in my bed in college. It was deeply traumatic.”
Melanie shrugs. “I’ll allow it.”
His mom’s eyebrows lift, delighted. “You’ll have to tell us the story! At the cabin!”
My throat tightens. “The cabin?” I echo.
“Oh yeah.” Mallory flips to a fresh Scattergories sheet. “The family weekend. Every summer before the kids go back to school we spend a weekend together with bonfires, yard games, and zero cell service.” She beams at me. “You’re invited, obviously.”
My pencil snaps clean in half. “I—um,” I say, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to intrude.”
Jackie waves her hand, brushing it away. “Nonsense. You’re practically family already. You bring out the best in Miles.”
His dad chuckles. “And besides, we could use more people on our side during charades. My wife cheats.”
“I do not cheat, Gregory.” She scoffs.
He glances at me and mouths, “She cheats.”
I laugh—because this is how they are. They tease and bicker, but it’s affectionate and chaotic.
It’s the kind of family I used to picture for myself before life taught me to keep my expectations small.
And that’s exactly why panic starts tightening around my ribs.
Because none of this is real. I’m not Miles’s girlfriend.
They’re making plans around a future that doesn’t actually include me—and I’m letting them.
Miles shifts closer, lowering his voice. “You okay?”
No. Absolutely not. But I smile anyway. “Yeah. Totally fine. Just, uh… thinking about the chipmunk.” I shudder theatrically. “Traumatizing.”
His brows furrow. “That’s it? Nothing else?”
“Yep.” Lie.
His mom gathers the buzzer. “So it’s settled—we’ll book the cabin for the weekend before Labor Day. That gives everyone time to clear their schedules.”
Melanie nudges me. “We’ll put you in the room with the view.”
“And you’re sitting next to Miles by the fire,” Mallory adds. “He burns marshmallows and eats them anyway, so he needs supervision.”
“That’s the only correct way to eat them.” Miles grins.
Everyone laughs. Except me. Because I’m too busy trying not to crumble under the weight of how easily they’ve written me into their traditions. Their jokes. Their plans. Their memories. Into Miles’s future.
“I should… probably get going,” I say suddenly, pushing to my feet. “Early shift tomorrow.”
Miles stands immediately, concern etched across his face. “Oh. Yeah. We can head out.”
“That’s right—you drove,” I murmur. “I’m sorry for making you leave early.”
Mallory gets to me first, wrapping me in a hug that’s all enthusiasm and zero restraint. “Next time, you’re not leaving early.”
Melanie follows, warm and gentle. “It was so good to see you. If you’re free, we’re having a girls’ day in a couple of weeks. You should come.”
I nod, because nodding is easier than figuring out how to say no without sounding like a liar.
Then Jackie pulls me into a hug that lingers just a beat longer than the others. “You’re always welcome here, Nora.”
I return the smiles with one of my own, but inside I’m wound so tightly, one wrong word might snap me in half. By the time Miles and I are in the car, silence settles between us.
“Everything okay?” he asks after a few blocks.
“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “Just tired.”
He nods, but I catch the way his gaze flicks toward me, like he doesn’t quite believe it.
When we pull up in front of my apartment, I’m reaching for the door before he’s fully stopped.
“Nora—”
But I’m already out of the car and halfway to my building before his footsteps are behind me. I turn as he catches up to me. “Miles, you don’t have to—”
“I do.” His voice is low. “Are you sure everything’s okay? Did I… do something wrong?”
My breath goes shallow. “No. Tonight was perfect. You were great. Really.” I take a step back toward the door before I convince myself to stay. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
He studies my face as if there’s more he wants to say, but instead, he nods. “Okay. We’ll talk later.”
I give him one last smile before slipping inside. Instead of walking, I bolt to my apartment door, and once it’s shut behind me, I sag against it, breath rushing out of my lungs. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
By the time my shift ends, my feet ache, my head throbs, and spending the entire day avoiding thoughts of Miles has left me with the emotional equivalent of shin splints.
I toss my bag into the back seat, crack the windows because the bar smell clings to me like guilt, and drive to Mom’s townhouse on autopilot. I don’t even bother knocking.
She’s at the kitchen counter chopping vegetables when I walk in. “Hey, sweetheart.” She glances up. “You look wrung out.”
That does it. I collapse onto a stool across from her. “That’s one way to put it.”
Her brows lift with equal parts concern and curiosity.
“Tell me what happened.” She slides a mug of chamomile tea into my hands.
It’s warm against my palms. I carry the tea to the couch and sink down, pulling the knitted throw she made years ago over my lap.
If I’m going to unravel, I might as well be comfortable. “It’s getting too real,” I whisper.
Mom sits beside me. “What is?”
“Everything.” I lean back and stare at the ceiling.
“Remember when I told you I was fake dating Miles?” She nods.
“Well it snowballed. One date led to another and then another, and more recently I went to game night with him and his family. They invited me to their cabin weekend. They were planning activities around me. Making inside jokes. Treating me like I’ve been there forever. ”
She smiles softly. “They sound lovely.”
“They are lovely,” I snap—and immediately deflate. “That’s the problem.”
She tilts her head. “Explain.”
I drop my gaze to the light, golden liquid.
“I’m lying to them, Mom. All of them. They’re kind and welcoming and warm, and they deserve something real.
And I’m just… there. Sitting in their living room, laughing, playing games, pretending to be something I’m not.
The worst part is every minute that passes, it gets harder to remember that it’s fake.
They treat me like I belong—and I’m starting to want that.
It’s starting to feel like we’re a couple,” I continue, my voice thinning.
“A real couple. And I can’t—” My throat tightens. “I can’t let myself go there.”
“Why not?”
I exhale a short, bitter laugh. “Because look at him, Mom. He’s too perfect. Too good. Too smart. Too… everything. He deserves someone who actually fits into his life.”
“And you don’t think that’s you?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not.” The words come easier once I start.
“I’m a mess. I work at a bar. I live in a studio apartment the size of a shoebox.
I don’t have a five-year plan. I don’t even have a two-year plan.
I’m barely managing things one week at a time.
” A tear slips free before I can stop it.
“And he deserves someone who isn’t… lost.”
Her hand tightens around mine. “Sweetheart, being lost isn’t a flaw.”
“It feels like one,” I whisper.
She exhales, brushing her thumb over my knuckles. “Nora… you think you’re protecting him by holding yourself back. But what you’re really doing is protecting yourself.”
I turn away. “Mom—”
“No,” she says, still gentle but firmer now.
“You need to hear this. You’re not afraid of lying to his family.
You’re afraid you might actually belong with them.
You’re afraid of wanting something you’re scared you won’t get to keep.
” She pauses, then adds quietly, “He deserves someone kind. Someone who shows up. Someone who makes his family laugh. Someone who looks at him the way you do when you think no one’s watching. ”
My breath catches. She saw that?
“Nora, you’re not afraid of Miles being too perfect. You’re afraid of being happy.”
My breathing stutters as more tears threaten to break loose.
She squeezes my hand to make sure I’m paying attention. “You deserve good things too, sweetheart. You just have to stop running from them.”
I swallow past the tight ache in my throat. “I don’t know how.”
“That’s okay,” she whispers. “Miles seems patient enough to help you figure it out.”
I close my eyes, letting the truth of that sink in. I know he would. That’s not the problem. The problem is bigger.
“I’m not the one he wants,” I say quietly. “This started because he asked me to help him practice—so he could impress another woman. She’s the one he wants.”
And it’s the truth. And it stings. So fucking much.