Chapter 26 How To Avoid Your Problems
Twenty-Six
How To Avoid Your Problems
Nora
His mom wrapping me in a hug, telling me I’m always welcome here.
His sisters inviting me to girls’ day. The laughter.
The noise. The ridiculous arguments over rules and traditions like the Freezer Feast. None of that was fake.
And that’s what makes this entire situation wrong.
I don’t feel guilty because I might get hurt.
I feel guilty because I let people be kind to me under false pretenses.
Because I let them believe something about me, and about us, that isn’t true.
I know who I am. And I don’t take comfort in knowing I haven’t been honest.
Miles didn’t do anything wrong. He trusted me. He showed up. He held up his end of the bargain. If this continues, the lie won’t just be about fake dating anymore, it’ll be about me. And I don’t want to be that person. Not with him. Not with his family. And not with myself.
I close my eyes and breathe through the ache. An ache that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with integrity. For the first time since all of this started, I know exactly what has to change. I just don’t know how.
For the next five days, I move as if nothing’s wrong.
I work on OneDate, rewriting the same lines of code twice because I can’t remember if I already fixed them.
I pull shifts at Porter’s, miscount change, pour the wrong beers so often I lose track.
During the quiet moments behind the bar, my hand keeps drifting toward my phone before I stop myself.
Day after day, his texts stack up unanswered.
With most guys, silence does the work. You ignore them long enough and they disappear. But not Miles.
It’s Thursday night when the rush finally thins out. I’m wiping down the bar again, even though it’s already clean, when the door opens and Miles walks in.
“Nora.”
I flinch. Just a fraction, but enough to give me away. “Hey,” I say too brightly, eyes fixed on the bar. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.”
“I texted.”
“You did?”
“Yesterday. And the day before.”
Right. Those texts. The ones I saw and told myself I’d answer after I finished washing my hair, rearranging my living room, and organizing my kitchen.
I still my hands and finally look up at him.
He isn’t smiling. He doesn’t look angry either.
Just… serious. The easy warmth he usually carries has dimmed, replaced by something new.
“Everything okay?” I ask, because deflection is my new favorite survival skill.
He studies me for a moment, then nods once. “I’m okay.” A pause stretches between us. “Are you?”
There it is. “I’m fine,” I say automatically.
He doesn’t call me on it—not right away. Instead, he steps closer and rests his hands on the edge of the bar. He doesn’t crowd me. He just plants himself there like he’s not going anywhere until we actually talk.
“You’ve been busy.” His tone is neutral.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Work. App stuff. Mom.”
“Mm-hmm.” The sound is soft. Noncommittal.
I stack coasters that don’t need stacking.
Miles exhales slowly. “Okay. So either I did something wrong… or you’re avoiding me.”
My throat tightens. “I’m not avoiding you.”
He tilts his head. “Then why does it feel like I only exist to you when we’re standing in the same room?”
Fair. I open my mouth. Close it and try again. “Can we talk later? I’ll text you.”
His gaze stays steady. “Are you actually going to message me?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Miles holds my eyes a second longer than necessary, then pushes off the bar and heads for the door.
The moment he’s gone, I finally breathe.
I drop my elbows onto the bar—the wood cool and tacky beneath my skin—and bury my face in my hands.
I have to talk to him. I know that. What I hate is the part where I have to peel myself open and admit I can’t do this anymore.
Pretending isn’t an option now. I owe him honesty, even if it leaves me exposed in ways I’ve spent years avoiding.
“So,” Beck slides beside me. “What’s the deal with polo-shirt guy?”
“Miles?”
“Yeah. You two looked… intense.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“So you’re not a thing?”
“No.”
He tilts his head. “Then maybe we take another run at that almost-kiss from before, but this time I actually ask you out first.”
I should say yes. Beck is hot. No faking needed. Instead, I turn toward him and ask, “Do you know what sea cucumbers do to ward off predators?”
He blinks. “Is… is that a trick question?”
“No. Never mind. It’s not important.” I sigh. “I just don’t think I’m in the right headspace to date right now.”
He winces, then manages a crooked smile. “Can’t lie, getting turned down twice stings. Doesn’t happen much.”
“I can imagine.” I shrug. “But most of those women probably aren’t hauling around a shopping cart full of emotional baggage. You’ll be fine.”
“Same goes to you.” He nods and turns away, then pauses. “Out of curiosity… what do sea cucumbers do?”
“They expel their organs.”
His face twists in horror. “I have so many questions. Mostly why you know that.”
I laugh. I know exactly who taught me that fun fact.
The next day, I text Miles and ask him to meet me somewhere neutral.
Not Porter’s. Not at his place, or mine.
But at a quiet park by the lake instead.
The bench is cold beneath my jeans, but I don’t shift.
The water stretches out in front of us—gray-blue and endless, much like the sky above.
It’s the kind of view that usually makes you feel small in a comforting way, but today, I want it to swallow me whole.
Miles sits beside me, close but not touching.
He’s been quiet since we got here, toeing rocks and pretending not to notice that I’ve been rehearsing this conversation in my head for the last ten minutes.
I lace my fingers together, forcing myself to stop fidgeting.
If I hesitate any longer, I’ll say to hell with it and leave.
I clear my throat. “Miles… I’ve been thinking.” I keep my eyes on the water, because if I look at him, I might lose my nerve.
He turns slightly. “About what?”
“About us,” I say. “About… the fake dating.” The words hang between us.
“I think it’s time we call it off. The whole fake relationship thing.
” He doesn’t respond right away. Silence stretches, and my instinct is to fill it, so I do.
“You don’t need practice anymore. You graduated.
Top of your class in dating.” I risk a glance at him and manage a small smile.
“If you still want more practice, there are about a thousand women on OneDate who would be thrilled to have you as their date.”
He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, but his eyes stay serious.
“And if not,” I add, softer now, “I think you’re ready to ask Maggie out again.
She’s going to be… pleasantly surprised by how far you’ve come.
” I tilt my head, trying for lightness. “Not a single sea cucumber in sight.” That earns a real smile, but it fades too fast. “So,” I finish, my voice steadier now, “I think our fake relationship did what it was supposed to do. And now… we let it go.”
The lake quietly laps against the shore as if it has all the time in the world.
His gaze is steady on the water, then he peers down at his hands, rubbing his thumbs together. “Is this what you want?” he asks quietly.
The question hits me straight in the chest. I swallow. “It’s what makes sense. My life is a mess. I’m… unfinished. Half broken.”
“That’s not true. You’re the most whole person I’ve ever met.”
I shake my head, blinking fast against the tears threatening to spill. “I wish that were true,” I whisper. “But it’s not. And I think it’s better if we go our separate ways.”
He nods once.
I don’t know what I expected—anger, confusion, something.
But this is new territory for both of us.
You don’t get a handbook for ending a fake relationship that stopped feeling fake somewhere along the way.
We sit there a little longer, shoulder to shoulder, watching the lake carry on like nothing in the world is shifting while everything inside me is.
After a few minutes, I stand and leave. If I stay beside him any longer, I know I’ll change my mind.