Chapter 11 #2
Catering brings out another round of hors d’oeuvres. Little bruschetta with tomatoes and basil. Bacon-wrapped dates. Those grilled cheese triangles that are basically comfort food in formal wear.
The energy shifts. Relaxes. People are mingling, refilling wine glasses, laughing about the game.
Maya and Derek settle onto the couch. Someone brings over a pile of wrapped gifts.
“Gift time!” Maya’s back in hostess mode.
And honestly? It’s sweet. Watching them.
Derek’s hand on Maya’s knee. Casual. Affectionate. She leans into him when she laughs. When she opens matching robes with Mr. and Mrs. embroidered on them, he actually blushes.
They’re good together.
Real.
You can see it in the way he looks at her—like she hung the moon and personally arranged all the stars. The way she touches his arm when she’s excited.
This is what actual love looks like.
Unlike whatever performance Brody and I just gave.
He’s standing next to me now, playing his role perfectly. Arm around my waist. Smiling at the right moments. Laughing at Derek’s jokes about honeymoon plans.
Every inch the devoted boyfriend.
But I can feel the tension. The coiled energy. His hand on my waist is just a fraction too careful. His laugh doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
He’s performing.
And I’m starting to hate that I can tell the difference.
One of Maya’s bridesmaids—Hayley, I think—corners us by the bar.
“You two are so cute together!” she coos, like we’re fuzzy zoo animals. “I follow you on Instagram.” This to Brody. “The way you post about Chloe is so sweet. That picture of you two at that Spanish restaurant? Very cute.”
Wait. What?
I glance at Brody. He looks uncomfortable for half a second before the Candy Kane smile returns, brighter than before.
“She makes it easy,” he says, pulling me closer.
Hayley practically melts. “You guys are relationship goals. Seriously.”
She floats away to talk to someone else, nearly bumping into a side table in her champagne-induced haze.
I turn to Brody, keeping my voice low enough that the couple standing three feet away can’t hear. “You posted about our date?”
“Rick handles most of my social media.” He’s not meeting my eyes, instead watching the happy couple as they tear open another gift they really don’t need. “He’s just making it look authentic.”
The words sting more than they should.
Authentic.
“Right. Okay.” The word is salt and lemon on my tongue.
Maya tears into another gift—a large box from Tyler and his girlfriend.
She gasps. “A karaoke machine!”
Oh no.
I turn. Maybe I can take it from her, tell her I’ll stash it with the other gifts before she can—
She’s already pulling Derek to his feet. “We have to try it right now!”
Tyler moves to help set it up. Plugs it in near the fireplace, where I’d arranged the makeshift stage area. The little TV flickers to life.
Maya scrolls through songs. Lands on “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen.
Of course. Very on-brand.
She hands Derek the other microphone, and they launch into it.
And of course, she’s good. Confident. In tune. Working the room.
Derek, however, is…less good. But he’s smiling, laughing as Maya draws him in.
And when he jumps in, it’s all ham, all goof.
Gone is the stoic team captain, replaced by a googly-eyed, lovesick fool with a microphone.
And I feel like I’m getting an inside look at the cute little world the two of them live in.
The room’s clapping along. Filming. It’s chaotic and fun and exactly what I hoped for when I planned this party.
And then the song ends.
Maya’s breathless, laughing, trying to hand the microphone to Tyler. “Your turn!”
But Derek intercepts.
Takes both microphones.
Turns to face us. “Wait.”
The room quiets.
“The winners of the newlywed game need a song too.” He’s looking directly at us. “Come on. It’s only fair.”
Absolutely not.
No way.
Not happening.
The room erupts. Chanting. “DO IT! DO IT!”
I spin, looking for a retreat, and run straight into the rock-solid chest of my fake boyfriend. Brody’s got a mischievous look in his eye.
“Brody…”
He scoops me up—I’d call it sweeping me off my feet, except that it’s the opposite of what I want at this exact moment.
“Brody, no!”
He carries me to the stage, spurred on by a chorus of cheers, and leans in, his breath grazing my neck. “Come on, Chloe. Show ’em what you’ve got.”
Oh yeah. Thanks. Here’s the problem.
What I’ve “got” is a terrible voice and even worse stage fright. So…
Derek hands us the microphones, a challenge issued.
Brody scrolls through songs. Pauses. “You know this one?”
I look at the screen.
“Like I’m Gonna Lose You” by Meghan Trainor
Oh.
Oh.
That’s a love song. A real love song. For real couples.
“I know it,” I manage.
The music starts. Light guitar, a simple beat. And then it’s my line.
I panic, watching the lyrics scroll across the screen. I open my mouth and…nothing.
Brody’s hand slips into mine, his gaze ducking into my line of vision. He takes a step, blocking out the rest of the crowd, filling my view, and suddenly it’s just the two of us.
And somehow, I find my voice just as the chorus begins.
“So I’m gonna love you like I’m gonna lose you
I’m gonna hold you like I’m saying goodbye…”
Brody nods, encouraging me as I find my footing with each note. And when the second verse begins, Brody takes over.
And—
Wait.
He can sing.
Not professional or anything. But his voice is warm. Rich. And the lyrics—
“I’ll kiss you longer, baby, any chance that I get
I’ll make the most of the minutes and love with no regret…”
A song about love and loss. About holding on to each moment while it lasts, even while the end is barreling toward you.
I think I could cry.
The chorus comes back around, and I join back in.
We’re not looking at the TV screen.
We’re looking at each other.
And the room disappears.
Just vanishes. Gone.
It’s just us. Just this song.
“Wherever we’re standing, I won’t take you for granted
’Cause we’ll never know when, when we’ll run out of time…”
My voice is failing by the end, rasping out each word. It feels like Barcelona all over again, that heavy heartache, knowing all of this is temporary. It’s not even real.
Except, I think…maybe it is.
The song ends.
He still hasn’t looked away. The room is so quiet, I think you could hear my heart pounding.
And then—
Brody’s hand cups my face. Gentle. Careful. Like I’m something that might break.
And then he kisses me.
In front of everyone.
On this makeshift stage with twenty-five people watching and at least five phones recording.
His lips are soft. Warm. Moving against mine like he’s been thinking about it. Like maybe he’s been falling apart the same way I have. Like maybe all that distance these last two weeks was him running from this exact moment.
His other hand finds my waist. Pulls me closer.
Not for show.
Not calculated.
This feels—
Real.
My hands find his sweater. Grip the soft fabric. The microphone falls from my other hand—thunk—but I don’t care.
The room is losing it. Cheering. Whistling. Tyler’s yelling something. Lauren’s actually crying. Someone’s chanting “KISS! KISS! KISS!” even though we are literally already doing that.
He pulls back. Slowly. Reluctantly.
His forehead rests against mine for just a second.
“Chloe—” It’s so quiet I almost miss it when he breathes my name.
But then the cheering breaks through.
Reality.
The room.
All of it rushing back like cold water.
He steps back.
Smiles at the crowd.
Waves the microphone—which he somehow didn’t drop, unlike me.
The perfect performer. Back on stage.
And just like that, the wall is back up.
The party continues.
More karaoke. Tyler and his girlfriend massacre something country. One of Derek’s teammates attempts “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and it’s objectively terrible, but everyone loves it anyway because we’re all happy and having fun.
Brody stays close. Plays his role. Arm around my waist. Laughing. Chatting about upcoming games.
But he’s distant.
Careful.
Like the kiss broke something instead of fixing it. Like he gave too much and now he’s pulling back twice as hard.
Like he’s scared of what happens if he stays in that vulnerable place for too long.
People start leaving. Grabbing coats. Calling Ubers. Promising to see everyone at the wedding.
I slip away to start cleanup.
Collecting champagne glasses. Tossing paper plates. Organizing leftover food by catering into containers.
I’m in the kitchen, wrapping the last of the bruschetta, when Maya finds me.
“Chloe.” Her voice is soft. Happy. She catches my elbow. Turns me to face her. “I need to tell you something.”
I set down the container. “What?”
“I was wrong about Brody.”
My stomach drops.
She takes my hands. Squeezes. “About being worried. About thinking he might be using you.”
“Maya—”
“That kiss?” She’s beaming. “That was real. The way he looked at you during the song? The way you two know each other so well you won every single round?” Her eyes are shining.
“That’s not something you can fake, Chloe.
I think he’s a keeper. I’m so happy for you.
You deserve someone who looks at you like that. ”
I try not to look stricken.
I try so hard.
Because I have absolutely no idea what’s true anymore.
Was the kiss real? Or was it just another box checked on the contract to-do list? Kiss girlfriend in public to sell the story.
How am I supposed to know the difference when Brody’s so good at performing that even I can’t tell what’s an act?
“Thanks, Maya.” My voice sounds normal. Cheerful, even. “That really means a lot.”
She hugs me tight. Then floats back to Derek.
And I’m standing in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes and leftover food, trying to figure out what just happened.
Trying to figure out if Maya’s right.
If that kiss was real.
If any of this is real.
We say our goodbyes.
Brody helps carry chairs. I hand out tip envelopes to the bar staff packing up.
Derek watches us both with that assessing expression, but he’s less hostile now. Maybe the party softened him. Maybe seeing us win every game convinced him.
Or maybe he’s just biding his time.
And finally, it’s just us.
The cold air feels almost refreshing after a long day. Brody walks me to the passenger-side door, opens it for me.
We drive in silence. The streets are quiet. Dark.
“That went well,” I say finally. “Everyone seemed to have fun.”
“Yeah. You did a great job.”
More silence. Just the engine and the tires on pavement and my heart beating too fast.
We’re almost at my apartment when he finally speaks. “We’re on the road for the next two weeks.”
“Okay.”
“So I’ll see you in Maple Lake. For the wedding.”
Oh. My heart sinks. That’s it?
We’re not going to talk about what’s been going on with him. We’re not going to address that kiss back there. Heck, I guess we’re not even going to talk about winning that stupid game.
I don’t know why I thought that kiss meant anything in the first place.
He pulls up in front of my building.
Parks. Doesn’t turn off the engine.
Leaves it idling. Ready to escape.
I should get out. Thank him. Go inside. Process this disaster.
But I can’t.
“Did I do something wrong?” The words just come out. No filter. No dignity. What is wrong with me?
His gaze snaps up. “What?”
“I just…feel like something’s off between us.” I sound pitiful. Get out of the car, Chloe. For the love…
“No. We’re good.” His voice is rough. And then he sighs, the kind that feels like I’m annoying him.
Right.
My hand finds the door handle.
“I’ll see you in two weeks, Chloe.”
“Yeah.” I’m already getting out. “See you then.”
Door closes. Maybe with more force than necessary.
I walk up the steps without looking back.
He drives away, tires squealing slightly.
Roadrunner cloud of smoke.
Gone.
I’ll admit, he really had me going at the party.
Someone give that man an Oscar.