Chapter 8 Mr. Heartland
EIGHT
Mr. Heartland
April
She blinked against it the light eyes adjusting after the velvet-dark intimacy of Couture Magnifique. The street smelled like exhaust and expensive coffee and the faint sweetness of a flower cart two doors down.
She inhaled deeply. Exhaust. Coffee. Flower cart. Normal things.
Liam guided her onto the sidewalk as her phone buzzed. She reached for it, still half-hoping it would be something boring. Calendar alert. Weather update. Proof the world hadn't gone fully surreal.
It was Jax. Which meant her hope for boring was probably dead on arrival.
JAX: "We are spirits clad in veils."—Christopher Pearse Cranch
She reread it, trying to parse meaning from poetry.
Another buzz.
JAX: I saw you come out of there different, April. Beautiful.
April glanced up at the building. At the windows. At the cameras she knew existed everywhere.
Jax was watching. Had been watching.
She typed back quickly.
April: Watching me through cameras? That's something you ask about first.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
JAX: noted. surveillance requires consent.
JAX: creating new "don't watch people without asking" protocol.
JAX: also creating “texts I failed to think better of” folder.
JAX: both infractions logged for future punishment/reward consideration.
JAX: your call.
April: I'll think about it.
JAX: badge log: chad left at 3:47pm
JAX: facial expression analysis: punchable
April snorted despite herself. Of course Jax was monitoring Chad's movements like he was tracking server uptime.
She started toward the waiting car, already pocketing her phone. Liam's gaze flicked from the phone to her face.
"Jax has cameras everywhere, apparently," she said, still walking, her attention on Liam instead of where her feet were going.
Which was how she managed to walk directly into a wall of silk trench coat and too-expensive cologne. A hand caught her elbow, warm and practiced. The signature move of a man who'd built a career on catching clumsy heroines and calling it fate.
"Easy there, sweetheart," the man said.
April’s brain short-circuited. “Oh my god. You’re Caleb Hart.”
The man's grin widened, smile bright and perfect. The smile that had sold a thousand Heartland movies and twice as many pickup trucks during commercial breaks.
"Guilty as charged."
"I—I'm so sorry," April stammered, feeling heat rush back to her cheeks. "I just—I love Sweetwater Creek. I've watched every season. The Christmas wedding special made me cry for like, an hour. And the one where you saved the bookstore? I bought the DVD."
April's brain was already spiraling through every episode she'd ever seen. He'd saved at least a dozen family farms. Prevented the demolition of historic barns across three fictional states. In Season 4, he'd literally brought a Christmas tree back to life through the power of believing.
Caleb Hart. The Caleb Hart, King of the Heartland Romance, the man every mother in America wanted their daughter to marry, let out a low, appreciative laugh that sounded like bourbon felt.
She was babbling. She heard it happening, caught the spiral mid-spin, and made herself stop. "Sorry. Big fan. You probably get that a lot."
"Well now," he drawled, "aren't you just the prettiest thing to nearly tackle me on the sidewalk today."
April felt the heat from the dressing room rush back to her face in full force.
The weight of the emerald silk dress waiting for her at home.
The heavy diamond on her finger making her hand feel like it belonged to someone else.
Running into a TV star on top of everything else today felt like someone had taken her perfectly reasonable Tuesday and added seventeen unscheduled plot twists.
"I have to go," she said, the words tumbling out. "I'm so sorry, I don't usually—I'm not normally this—"
Caleb's gaze tracked her face, flushed; the designer clothes that didn't match her flustered energy; the massive diamond on her finger that caught the light like a small sun.
His grin shifted, sharpening into calculation that didn’t quite match the wholesome energy he radiated on basic cable.
On screen, Caleb Hart was clean-cut and reliable, probably smelled like pine and good decisions.
In person he had the grin of a man who knew exactly how much his wholesome image was worth.
"I know that look," Caleb said.
He leaned casually against the boutique's stone pillar, afternoon sun catching in his hair. Somewhere behind him, a car horn honked. The city kept moving, but he stood there like he had all the time in the world.
"Actually, that's not a look. That's a cold open. Whatever kind of day you're having? I'd buy the rights."
"You have no idea," April said before she could stop herself.
"Come on." His eyes gleamed. "I can see the third act from here. What happened in the first two?"
She was not about to explain her entire humiliating day to a man she'd only ever seen on a billboard.
Except.
No one had actually asked her yet.
Everyone else had just seen it, reacted to it, managed around it. And suddenly she wanted to tell someone. Wanted to say it out loud and own it.
"You know how in your movies, the girl always realizes the guy is The One because he fixed her flat tire or saved the Christmas pageant? My version is realizing my boyfriend was The Wrong One because he thought 'April Fools' was a legal defense."
Caleb's eyebrows lifted. Not the practiced surprise from Heartland promos. Actual interest.
"Legal defense for what?"
"Cheating. I caught him on his desk with someone from HR. He said it was a prank. Like that made it—" She gestured vaguely. "—less real."
"And the ring?" He nodded at her hand. "That part of the prank too?"
"The ring is—" April looked down at the diamond catching sunlight like it was trying to start a fire. "The ring is from someone else. Someone who's pretending to be my fiancé so Chad can't—"
She stopped. This was insane. She was explaining her fake engagement to a man whose IMDB page read like a catalog of fictional proposals. He'd gotten engaged in fake snow, real snow, and that one movie where the snow was actually soap bubbles. Her fake engagement was amateur hour.
Caleb's smile softened, his eyes sharpening with that actor-focus that probably made scene partners feel like the only person in the room.
"I've played a veterinarian who fell in love while bottle-feeding an orphaned raccoon. Your story's not even top ten weirdest things I've heard this month." He paused. "So you've got a fake fiancé and a real ex who thinks gaslighting counts as humor. I'm invested. Keep going."
And then it all came out.
The cupcake. The supply closet. Chad saying “April Fools” like that erased what she’d just seen.
The password reset attempt in the server room.
The fake engagement that felt increasingly real. Killian Blackwood had put a ring on her finger in front of the entire office, and she’d said yes.
And then she did the voice. Chad's voice. Her shoulders bobbled back and forth in exaggerated reasonableness, her tone dropping into that flat, patronizing register he used when he wanted to sound like the adult in the room.
"I'm not going to overreact to this. When you're done playing games—and you've calmed down—call me."
Caleb snickered.
April realized she'd been talking for—she didn't know how long. Long enough that her throat felt raw, and Caleb was still listening with that same focused attention that probably made directors love him and scene partners trust him.
"Sorry," she said automatically. "That was—"
"A better story than anything my writers have come up with in fifteen years. Real stakes. Real conflict. You've got a genuine villain." He paused, thoughtful. "Best villains aren't evil—they're convinced they're the hero. And your guy? He sounds like he's convinced he's the star of his own movie."
April let out a sharp laugh, the kind that hurt coming out.
Caleb straightened, no longer leaning. Suddenly present in a way that felt intentional. Behind him, Liam had materialized near the car, watching with obvious amusement.
"Your ex, sounds like the kind of man who thinks he's the romantic lead, no matter what scene he walks into."
"That's exactly it. He thinks he's—" She gestured vaguely.
"—you. The wholesome guy who made a mistake but deserves forgiveness because he's fundamentally good.
Except your movies don't start with the main character finding out her boyfriend's been 'working late' with someone who definitely wasn't baking cookies for the church fundraiser. "
Caleb laughed, bright and genuinely delighted in a way his on-screen laugh never quite was.
"God, no. My characters are too busy teaching widows how to make artisanal jam and saving the town gazebo.
" He paused again, grin turning predatory.
"I've played the same guy seventeen times.
His name changes, but he's always a carpenter or a veterinarian or someone who just inherited his grandfather's maple syrup farm.
And I've never once, not in seventeen movies and three series, fucked anyone from Human Resources. "
A laugh broke loose. It cut off when she remembered Chad had actually—
Caleb watched her laugh fade, amusement sliding into his expression. "Here's the thing, April. Guys like that don't want forgiveness. They want attention."
April blinked. That hit. Too accurately.
"Everything's a performance with him. Every fight, every apology, he's playing to an audience that isn't even there."
"Exactly."
Something clicked into focus. Like she'd been squinting at it for three years and Caleb had just adjusted the lens.
"He used to say he was just 'keeping things light.'" Her voice soured on the last word. "But it was more like... if he was the one pulling focus, then he didn't have to answer for anything."
Caleb hummed, thoughtful. "And now you've taken away the laugh track."
April felt that land somewhere deeper than she wanted it to. "I think I cancelled the whole damn show."
"You know what I like about you?" Caleb said, studying her with that actor's focus
April gave him a sidelong look. "No, but this should be good."
"You've got what we call lead energy. Not the Heartland kind. Not the girl who slips on ice and learns to believe in Christmas. You’re the one who walks into a real movie halfway through and throws the whole thing off balance."
"So you're saying I'm not the girl who gets saved by twinkle lights, I'm the girl who accidentally burns down the town square?"
"You're not a passive romance heroine. You're the chaos agent who derails the plot."
"That doesn't sound like a compliment."
Caleb shrugged. "It's an observation."
April didn't have a response to that. Mostly because she was still trying to figure out if she'd just been insulted or diagnosed by someone whose professional credentials included teaching fictional women to milk cows in heels.
This day had gone so far off-script she couldn't even find the genre anymore.
Caleb glanced toward the boutique, then checked his watch. The universal signal of someone wrapping up a conversation they'd enjoyed but couldn't extend.
Liam stepped forward. "You heading in for a fitting?"
"Yeah." Caleb's gaze flicked back to them. "Got an appointment."
Caleb's gaze flicked between April and Liam, something clicking into place. His grin turned wicked. "Oh, you're the brother."
April rolled her eyes, "He's not the fake fiancé."
Liam said nothing.
Caleb caught her eye with the look of a man who'd just read the whole script in one glance and was enjoyed the plot twist.
"Chad has a styling appointment here in about twenty minutes," Liam said. "There's a particular purple suit I'd love to see him wear."
Caleb's laughed, delighted, like he'd just been handed the punchline before the setup and appreciated it anyway.
April blinked. "Are we really doing this?"
"Yes," Liam said.
Caleb stepped back toward the boutique entrance, still smiling. "I haven't had this much fun since before I signed with Heartland."
He pulled open the door, shot them one last grin over his shoulder and slipped through the boutique doors.