Mia stared at Lucas like he'd just offered her a contract to join the FBI.
"A fake date," she repeated, blinking. "Like... pretend we're dating?"
Lucas nodded, completely unfazed. "Exactly. Just a one-time thing. Or, you know, however long you feel like pretending you accidentally fell for me."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. "Why would 𝘺𝘰𝘶 want that?"
He took a slow sip of his coffee like he had all the time in the world, then leaned back with an infuriating calmness that made her want to shake him–or maybe kiss him. The line was blurry.
"Let's call it mutual benefit," Lucas said. "You get to stop apologizing for that accidental flirty voice message, and I get to fake date to help me deal with my ex, who just moved into the apartment next door."
Mia choked. "𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦?"
"Yep," he said casually. "She waved at me this morning while holding a very aggressive potted plant. I need her to believe I've moved on so she stops trying to casually drop by with banana bread and emotional damage."
Mia blinked at him. "You want me to be your... fake emotional rebound?"
Lucas grinned. "Now you're getting it."
This was absurd. Completely, absolutely undeniably absurd.
And yet...
There was something strangely appealing about the idea. Maybe it was the chaos. Or maybe it was the fact the Lucas Rowe looked like a man who knew how to turn heads and cause whispers, and for once in her life, Mia wouldn't mind being the subject of a few.
"Okay," she said finally, surprising even herself. "I'll do it."
Lucas tilted his head. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But there are conditions."
"Obviously."
She raised a finger. "Rule one: no actual feelings."
"Easy," he said with a small smirk. "I barely feel anything before my second cup of coffee."
"Rule two," she continued, "no touching unless necessary. That includes fake hand-holding unless you ask for consent first."
Lucas placed a hand over his heart. "I am a gentleman."
"Rule three: we tell Emily. She's going to figure out anyway, and I'd rather not die under the weight of her investigative glare."
"Noted." He paused, his brow arching slightly. "That's it? Three rules?"
Mia considered. "And no wierd couple nicknames."
"No 𝘴𝘯𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘯, got it."
She groaned. "Please never say that again."
Lucas grinned and held out his hand. "Deal?"
Mia stared at it for a beat. Then, slowly, she reached out and shook it.
The deal was sealed.
--
By the time Saturday rolled around, Mia had already second-guessed her decision a hundred times. Maybe more.
Emily had screamed. Like, full-on banshee scream when Mia told her about the fake dating plan. She'd demanded to know if Mia had been possessed or hit her head. Then she'd made popcorn and insisted Mia report back every detail of the date like she was working for the romance police.
Now, standing in front of her mirror and adjusting the little yellow clip in her hair, Mia stared at her reflection with growing anxiety.
She didn't look like someone going on a date. She looked like someone 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 to go on a date and failing to commit. Her sweater was too plain, her jeans too ordinary, and her nerves were so obvious she could practically feel them radiating out of her like a beacon of "awkward incoming."
The doorbell rang.
She froze.
He was here.
Lucas Rowe, her fake boyfriend for the evening.
Mia opened the door slowly, peeking out – and then immediately wish she hadn't.
Lucas looked... dangerous.
Not dangerous like "wanted crminal," but dangerous like "your heart will not survive this." His dark button-down was rolled at the sleeves, revealing his forearms, which felt rude somehow. He held a small bouquet of sunflowers like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"You look nice," he said, offering the flowers with a crooked grin.
Mia blinked at the bouquet. "I... you brought flowers?"
"Fake boyfriend, remember?" he said. "I read the manual."
"There's a manual?" she asked, taking them from him like they were made of glass.
Lucas shrugged. "There should be."
--
The restaurant Lucas picked was a cozy little Italian place tucked between a bakery and a bookstore–almost suspiciously perfect.
They sat across from each other in a booth by the window, the table lit by a soft candle glow. The waiter brought breadsticks, which Mia immediately stress-ate, and then proceeded to ask how long they'd been dating.
Lucas, smooth as ever, answered without blinking. "A month. She fell in love with my cold brew collection."
Mia choked on her water.
The waiter chuckled, clearly charmed, and walked off to grab their drinks.
"You've got jokes," Mia muttered, dabbing her napkin against her lips.
Lucas leaned forward slightly. "Just playing my role."
"And what exactly is your role?"
He smirked. "The guy your ex-boyfriends suddenly envy."
Mia rolled her eyes but smiled. She couldn't help it. It was ridiculous. But also... kind of fun?
They talked easily, unexpectedly so. Lucas told her about his writing gigs and his wierd obsession with terrible '90s romcoms. She told him about running her bookshop and the awkward customers who whispered 𝘍𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘺 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴 requests like they were ordering illegal drugs.
By the time the dessert menu arrived, Mia had forgotten they were pretending.
She watched him across the table, candlelight dancing in his gray eyes, and something in her chest fluttered. Not butterflies. More like... fireworks wrapped in confusion.
This wasn't real. It 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 be real.
And yet, when Lucas leaned in just a little and said, "You're kind of cute when you're flustered," Mia forgot how to breathe.
--
When they returned to her place, Mia expected him to say a polite goodbye and leave.
Instead, Lucas walked her to the door and paused, his hands in his pockets.
"Well," he said. "That was fun."
"Yeah," Mia agreed, her heart racing. "Wierdly fun."
Lucas nodded. "I think we're ready for level two."
She raised an eyebrow. "Level two?"
"Convincing my ex. You're coming to brunch tomorrow."
Her jaw dropped. "𝘉𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩?!"
Lucas smiled as he walked backward toward the stairwell. "Don't worry. I'll pick you up. Wear something impressive. My ex liked judging people."
And with that, he disapoeared down the stairs, leaving Mia clutching her bouquet of sunflowers and wondering what exactly she'd signed up for.
