Chapter 3
ELISE
Today will be fine. Absolutely fine. Just a normal day where a gorgeous, successful basketball player worth millions happens to be visiting my tiny apartment above a coffee shop to practice being my fake boyfriend.
"That's the cleanest countertop in America," Jane says, nudging me with her elbow as she passes. "Want to tell me why you've been jumping at every sound the bell makes for the last hour?"
"I'm not jumping."
The bell chimes as the door opens, and I nearly drop the rag. Jane gives me a look that says I've proven her point.
"Just expecting someone," I say, relaxing when I see it's just Joyce coming for her daily cappuccino.
"Someone?" Jane waggles her eyebrows.
I'm saved from answering when Joyce approaches the counter, and I take my time making her drink, adding the perfect milk foam heart. When I turn back, Jane is still watching me, arms crossed.
"It's nothing. Just ... remember the guy I mentioned? From high school? Not James, but Elias. He's coming by to talk about the reunion."
Jane's eyes narrow. "The basketball player? Your crush from—"
"Shh! Yes, that one." I glance around nervously, though the café only has three customers, none within earshot.
"Well, well. Maybe this reunion thing won't be so bad after all."
The bell chimes again, and this time my heart actually stops. For a beat or two. Because there he is.
Elias ducks his head as he enters the café, those green eyes scanning the room before landing on me.
He's wearing jeans and a simple navy t-shirt that stretches across his shoulders in a way that makes all my lady parts tingle.
His hair is slightly rumpled, like he's been running his hand through it.
The floor under my feet is gone, and I'm sliding through it, with absolutely nothing to break my fall.
"Holy shit," Jane whispers. "That's actually him."
Elias approaches the counter, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Hey, Elise."
Just two words, and my stomach does a full somersault. I manage a smile that I hope doesn't look as shaky as it feels. "Hey."
Jane is staring openly, and I clear my throat. "Um, Jane, this is Elias. Elias, this is my sister, Jane."
"The owner of this amazing place," Elias says, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you."
Jane takes his hand, seemingly star-struck for a second before her protective big sister instincts kick in, giving him an appraising look that says I'm watching you.
I can see the exact moment Jane decides she likes him—the slight relaxation of her shoulders, the genuine smile replacing her skeptical one.
"What can I get you?" I ask, grateful to have something to do with my hands.
"Iced Americano, please."
As I prepare his drink, I'm hyperaware of his eyes on me. My hands tremble, and I focus on not spilling anything. When I turn to hand him the drink, our fingers brush, and an electric current shoots up my arm.
Oh, my Lord.
"Thanks," he says, and I swear his voice is deeper than it was a moment ago.
He takes a seat at a corner table and pulls out his phone. I try not to watch him as I serve the next customer, but my eyes keep flicking his way. He lifts his phone, angles it toward the coffee cup, and takes a photo.
A few minutes later, Jane nudges me. "Um, Elise? Something's happening."
I follow her gaze to the front window, where a small group of people is peering inside, phones in hand. The bell chimes again, and three women enter, scanning the room. Their eyes land on Elias, and they whisper excitedly to each other before approaching the counter.
Within twenty minutes, the café is buzzing. The line stretches to the door—more customers than we've had all week.
"What the hell?" Jane says as she frantically restocks cups.
Elias approaches the counter, looking a bit sheepish. "Sorry about this. I posted a photo of the coffee." He shows us his phone—a simple shot of the iced Americano, Jane's Brew logo visible in the background. No caption, just the location tag.
Jane's eyes widen. "This is because of one photo?"
He shrugs. "Twenty million followers. They tend to follow where I go."
"Twenty million?" Jane almost chokes. "When that other girl from your high school posted about us, we got maybe three extra customers. This is ... wow."
By 3:00 PM, my shift is officially over, but I'm still helping with the rush. Jane finally pushes me away from the counter at 3:15.
"Go," she says, nodding toward Elias, who's waiting patiently. "I've got this. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
I roll my eyes as I untie my apron. "That leaves a pretty wide margin."
She grins, shooing me away. "Exactly."
I lead Elias to the side door that leads to my apartment stairs, acutely aware of his presence behind me. The staircase is narrow, forcing him to walk close enough. My hands shake slightly as I unlock the door, then push it open.
"Sorry, it's so small," I tell him, stepping inside. My studio apartment suddenly seems even tinier with his large frame filling the doorway.
"It's great," he says, looking around. "Cozy."
I watch nervously as he takes in my space.
The full bed pushed against the wall, the small desk under the window covered with papers, the overstuffed bookshelf.
I spent an hour this morning tidying up, hiding the laundry pile, and washing the few dishes I had, but there's only so much you can do with 400 square feet.
He moves to the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines. "Stephen King, Grady Hendrix, Shirley Jackson ... serious horror collection."
"They're inspirations," I say, my palms already starting to sweat.
His eyes drift to my desk, where my manuscript pages are stacked neatly. "Is that your novel?"
"Yeah, but … can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee, though you probably don't want more coffee..."
"Water would be great."
I grab two glasses from the kitchen area, grateful for the moment to compose myself. When I turn back, he's sitting on my couch—really just my bed with throw pillows arranged to look couch-like. The sight of Elias sitting on my bed, even in its daytime configuration, sends heat racing through me.
There really is something wrong with me. I've been off-kilter since last night.
I hand him the water and sit beside him, leaving what I hope is a safe amount of space between us. With a soft smile, he pulls out his phone.
"I wanted to post the photo with you here. So you can see it first."
He shows me the screen. It's one of the images James took last night, but he's cropped it to just our faces. We're looking at each other, both smiling. My face isn't fully visible, just my profile, my smile, the way I'm looking up at him. It looks... so intimate, I almost believe it.
My heart clenches. God, what I'd do for this all to be real, but it's Elias we're talking about. In real life, however, a man like him will never ever be with a woman like me. Things like that only happen in fairy tales and romance movies.
"What do you think?" he asks, watching me closely.
"It's ... nice."
He types a single heart emoji, no caption, and looks at me again. "No backing out now."
"I'm not backing out."
He hits post, and we both stare at the screen as comments immediately start rolling in.
"Who is she???"
"OMG, are you dating someone???"
"Elias has a girlfriend!!!"
The weight of what we've just done settles over me. It's real now, or at least, everyone thinks it is.
Including Mia.
"So," he says, setting his phone down. "We should work on our story."
I nod, shifting slightly to face him better. "Right. The backstory."
"How did we reconnect?" he asks, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. His fingers are inches from my shoulder.
"Through James, obviously."
"And we hit it off immediately. Couldn't stop talking."
"Exchanged numbers."
"Been texting constantly since then."
"You asked me out..." I trail off, realizing I'm enjoying this fictional scenario a bit too much.
"The next day. I couldn't wait, so I took you to that little Italian place, Nonna's."
I laugh. "Very romantic."
His voice drops slightly, and my stomach flips. "I'm a romantic guy."
"And how long have we been dating?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.
"Not long, but we know it's the real deal. I mean, I'm known to be pretty private, so that single post tells them all about how serious this is."
We continue crafting our fake relationship history, adding details about imaginary dates and inside jokes. I find myself laughing more than I have in months. It's dangerously easy to forget this is all fake.
As we talk, I become increasingly aware of how close we're sitting. The space between us has somehow shrunk. His hand now rests on the couch just beside my leg, close enough that if I shifted slightly, we'd be touching.
"We should practice being comfortable with each other," he says. "People will expect us to act naturally. Casual touches. And I'm a really touchy person."
My pulse pounds in my temples. "Right. That makes sense."
He reaches out slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brush my cheek, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I freeze, unable to breathe.
"Like that," I'm sure his voice just dropped an octave.
This is practice, I tell myself. Method acting. But my body doesn't believe it. Every nerve ending is alive, hyperaware of his proximity.
Elias takes my hand and interlaces our fingers. His hand engulfs mine completely, warm and strong. "We'll need to hold hands at the reunion."
"Of course."
His thumb strokes across my knuckles, a gentle back and forth that sends shivers up my arm. I'm melting from the inside out, and all he's doing is holding my hand.
Our joined hands rest between us, shoulders nearly touching. The air turns heavy, weighted with everything I’ve never said and everything I still want too much.
And my God, I want him so damn much.
"We should probably practice kissing too," he says, his voice rough around the edges. "To make it believable."
I swallow hard. "Okay. For practice."