I’ve reorganized the coffee bean disy three times this morning. The Ethiopian blend doesn’t need to be alphabetically arranged by roast date, but here I am,bels facing forward.


    “Jules, you’re spiraling,” ire announces, not looking up from the espresso machine she’s cleaning. “And before you deny it, you’ve been humming for the past twenty minutes.”


    “I’m not—” I stop myself. I am spiraling.


    “Is this about yesterday? That kiss with Nick?” She sets down her cleaning rag, full attention on me now. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either, and I was just watching.”


    “It felt …” I trail off, unable to find the right word.


    She doesn’t say anything, allowing me to get my thoughts together.


    “Incredible,” I confirm. “Electricity shot through every nerve.”


    ire moves closer, lowering her voice. “Jules, he looks like a Greek god. Of course you felt something. Any woman with a pulse would feel something, kissing Nick Banks.”


    “You’re right. It’s probably just physical attraction.”


    “Really, really intense physical attraction,” she confirms. “That man could make a nun reconsider.”


    I burst intoughter. “You’re damn right about that.”


    “Just a human response. And a horny one. When’s thest time you had really good sex?”


    “ire!”


    “What? It’s a valid question. Craig was about as exciting as in oatmeal in bed. Your body is probably just screaming, Finally, a man who knows what he’s doing!”


    The bell chimes, and my stomach drops. Nick walks in, carrying a leather messenger bag, hair slightly messed up from the morning wind. He looks uncertain, almost nervous, which is weird because Nick is usually Mr. Confidence.


    “Speak of the devil,” ire whispers. “The hot-as-hell devil.”


    “Shut up,” I hiss.


    “Morning,” he says, his voice carrying that rough edge that means he didn’t sleep well either.


    “Hi.”


    We stare at each other. The entire coffee shop seems to pause, waiting. I can feel the ghost of yesterday’s kiss on my lips.


    Mrs. Henderson actually leans forward in her chair.


    “Could we talk?” Nick gestures to the corner booth. “I have a … proposal.”


    “A proposal?” Mrs. Henderson gasps loud enough for everyone to hear.


    “A business proposal,” Nick rifies.


    I lean against the counter. “Sure. Pumpkin spicette?”


    “Make it two,” he says with a wink.


    We’re both ufortable right now.


    ire steps up next to me as I start the espresso. “That man is looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert.”


    “It’s just attraction,” I remind myself as much as her.


    “Are you imagining climbing him like a tree?”


    “ire!”


    “What? I guess it’s just me.”


    She’s not wrong, which is the problem. I finish making ourttes.


    “Want to meet me in my office?”


    He grins. “Good idea.”


    I lead him through the back, past the ovens and the storage area, to the small office that used to be my grandmother’s. It’s cozy—just a long table that acts as a desk, aputer for inventory, two chairs, and walls covered in photos of the coffee shop through the decades.


    Nick follows me in, and suddenly, the space feels even smaller. He sets his messenger bag on the floor as I close the door, muffling the sounds from the dining room.


    “This is better,” he says.


    I hand him his coffee and pull one of the chairs away from the desk, angling it toward the other. He does the same, and when we sit, our knees touch. Neither of us pulls away.


    “So,” I say, wrapping my hands around my cup for warmth, “a business proposal?”


    “Right.” He pulls out hisptop, bncing it on his thighs. “Don’tugh.”


    “No promises.”


    He turns the screen toward me, and I nearly spit out my coffee.


    The first slide reads Strategic Rtionship Development: A Comprehensive Approach.


    “You made a PowerPoint about us?”


    “I know how it looks?—”


    “Oh my gosh. You’re a nerd!” I giggle. “You made a business presentation about us kissing.”


    Heughs. “Okay, maybe I am, but this is how my brain works!” He clicks to the next slide. It’s a graph. “Look, we went from zero to sixty in approximately three seconds. That’s not sustainable.”


    I study the graph, which has Intimacy Level on one axis and Time on the other. There’s a sharp spikebeled Coffee Shop Incident.


    “You graphed it out?”


    His knee presses more firmly against mine. “I process better with visuals.” He’s fully blushing now, and I find it so damn adorable. “The point is, we need practice. Small interactions. Buildingfort gradually.”


    “So, exposure therapy, but for fake dating?”


    “Exactly.” He clicks again.


    The next slide reads Phase One: Casual Public Interactions.


    I’m trying not to smile, but I’m failing. This overly structured, analytical approach is so opposite to how he kissed me yesterday. But it’s also sweet that he’s put this much thought into protecting our friendship.


    “So, what does Phase One involve?”


    “Coffee together. We’re doing that now. Walking through town. Grocery shopping. Normal couple things, but low stakes.”


    “You want to practice grocery shopping with me?”


    “Do I put my hand on your back while we walk? Do you hold the cart, or do I? These are things actual couples know without thinking.”


    Our knees are still touching, and I can feel the warmth of him through my jeans. “You’ve thought this through.”


    “I couldn’t sleep.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up more. “That kiss … Jules, I don’t want to screw this up. Our friendship, I mean. This situation. Whatever this is.”


    My heart pounds hard in my chest. “Me neither.”


    “So … practice?”


    “In front of the whole town?”


    “That’s kind of the point, right? Being seen together? Making it believable so Craig gives up.”


    He’s right.


    “Where do we start?”


    “Right here with the steps I’veid out in my very professional presentation.”


    Iugh, and the tension breaks. “You’re such a dork.”


    “You appreciate it.”


    “I do,” I admit.


    He closes theptop, then reaches over and takes my hand. His thumb strokes across my palm, and my breath catches.


    “Too much?”


    “It’s perfect.” The wordse out softer than I intend.


    We sit here in my tiny office, holding hands, knees touching, and it feels more intimate than yesterday’s kiss. Maybe because we’re choosing this, deliberately and privately crossing lines we drew.


    “This is weird,” he says.


    “So weird.”


    “Want to get weirder?”


    “Always.”


    He grins. “Come grocery shopping with me after your shift. Riverside cabin has nothing but wine and cheese.”


    “Very bachelor of you.”


    “Hey, they’re very good cheeses.”


    I squeeze his hand. “I get off at three today.”


    “I’ll be waiting,” he says.


    “Stalker.”


    “Strategic nner,” he says with augh.


    A knock on the door makes us jump apart like we were doing something we shouldn’t.


    “Jules?” ire’s voice calls through. “The afternoon rush is starting, and Tracy can’t find the vani syrup that was supposed to be delivered.”


    “Coming!” I stand, and Nick does too.


    In the small space, we’re suddenly very close.


    “This is going to be fun,” he says.


    “I’m actually looking forward to some excitement this fall,” I admit.


    He steps back so I can open the door, and ire is standing there with a knowing smirk.


    “Business proposal go well?” she asks, waggling her brows.


    “As expected,” Nick says.


    ire openly swoons. “Please tell me your brothers are avable.”


    Heughs. “Dyson, but trust me when I say, he’s not your type.”


    I lead him through the back exit like he’s a celebrity. He kinda is.


    “See you at three, Little Red.”


    “Can’t wait,” I say, then turn to see ire staring at me when I lock the door.


    “Phase One,” she repeats. “That beautiful man made a whole presentation about fake dating you, didn’t he?”


    “Maybe. Were you eavesdropping? What the hell?!”


    “And you’re going grocery shopping together?”


    “Yeah, his ce needs food. It’s an essential part to being a human.”


    “Uh-huh.” She follows me back to the front. “What is this going to solve exactly?”


    “Being believable so Craig will get the hint.”


    “Babe, the sexual tension between you two is believable from outer space.”


    “That’s just?—”


    “Physical attraction, I know.” She grabs the vani syrup from exactly where it always is, and I narrow my eyes at her. She was just being my nosy bestie. “Oh, look, here it is.”


    “You’re so evil,” I tell her.


    “Nah, just supportive. Also, Phase One sounds like forey to me.”


    I gasp. “Did you hear everything?”


    “I’ll never tell,” she says.


    I follow her to the front, where a line has formed. As I make the espresso, I can’t stop thinking about Nick’s knee pressed against mine, the warmth of his hand, the way he said, “Want to get weirder?” like it was an invitation to adventure.


    It’s just fake dating, I remind myself.


    Really borate, PowerPointed, multi-phased fake dating.


    The next two hours pass in a blur of customers and knowing looks from ire. When my shift ends, Nick waits for me by the door, hands in his pockets, looking unfairly good in his casual clothes. The afternoon sun streaming through the windows catches the gold in his eyes, and I have to remind myself that this isn’t real. It’s a friend offering a favor.


    “Ready?” he asks, holding out his hand.


    I take it, ignoring how perfectly our fingers fit together. “Lead the way.”


    The walk to Harvest Market is short, but approximately thirty locals see us holding hands. Each time someone waves or calls out a greeting, Nick’s grip tightens slightly—a little reminder that we’re in this together.


    “You’re thinking too hard,” I tell him as we enter the store.


    “How can you tell?”


    “You get this little crease right here.” I reach up without thinking, smoothing the spot between his eyebrows.


    He catches my hand, holding it against his cheek for a moment. “You’re right.”


    “It’s not a bad thing. Wee to the Overthinkers Club. We meet on Wednesdays. There are cookies.”


    Heughs, and I realize I’m already looking forward to making that happen again. The physical attraction makes everything feel more intense.


    “Okay,” he says, grabbing a cart. “Teach me your ways.”


    “Oh, this is easy. You push the cart. That’s what hot boyfriends do.”


    “Noted,” he says. “And then?”


    “And then they tell their girlfriends to buy whatever they want.”


    He smirks, moving close to me. “Buy whatever you want, sweetheart.”


    The way his voice lowers, along with the pet name, causes a shiver to run up my spine.


    “Okay, that was good.”


    He turns the cart and crashes the corner into an apple disy, causing three to roll across the floor.


    “So smooth,” I say, helping him chase them down. “Rx. No pressure.”


    “Right. No pressure.”


    He takes a breath, and I slide in beside him. He wraps his arm around me as we walk side by side, both of us keeping one hand on the cart. We look like an inseparable couple.


    “You know, Craig used to criticize all my food choices and insist on organic everything whileining about the prices.”


    “What a dick.”


    We move through the produce section, and I load the cart with different fruits and vegetables I enjoy. Nick listens like I’m sharing secrets, asking questions about why I choose one apple variety over another. It’s oddly intimate.


    In the cereal aisle, I reach for Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and he gasps.


    “That’s pure sugar.”


    “That’s pure joy, you mean.” I toss it in the cart with a thud. “What do you usually eat for breakfast?”


    “Protein shake or eggs.”


    “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”


    “It’s efficient. I was on a super-strict training schedule for years of my life. Some habits die hard.”


    “Sounds depressing,” I say. “We’re fixing your breakfast situation immediately.”


    “We?”


    The word hangs between us.


    “Yeah,” I rify. “Can’t have my boyfriend eating a sad-to-be-alive breakfast every morning. And what if you get hungryte at night? Cereal is always the solution.”


    He chuckles.


    We’re standing too close in the aisle, as Mrs. Lutcher—one of the librarians—takes photos of us with her phone.


    “We should eventually practice PDA,” I say. “Small stuff. It can’t look forced.”


    He steps closer, his handing to rest on my lower back. It’s barely a touch, but I feel it everywhere. I enjoy the heat of his palm through my shirt and how my body automatically leans into him.


    “Like this?”


    “Yeah.” My voicees out breathy.


    “And this?” His other hand tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering against my cheek, giving me a smile.


    “That’s … that’s really good.”


    “Julie?”


    “Hmm?”


    “At least five people are watching us.”


    “I know,” I say with a grin.


    We have an audience, pretending to be fascinated by pasta sauce and canned vegetables.


    “Should we give them something to talk about?” I ask.


    “What do you have in mind?”


    Instead of answering, I rise up on my toes and kiss his cheek, letting my lips linger just a second longer than necessary. He smells like expensive cologne and coffee, and I have to resist the urge to capture his lips again.


    “Perfect,” he mutters, and I’m not sure if he means my performance or something else.


    We finish shopping, the cart full of a variety of foods from healthy to horrible. At checkout, Linda, the cashier, gives me a smile.


    “You two are adorable together,” she says. “About time you found someone who matches you, Julie.”


    “Thank you.” I try not to blush as Nick loads the bags.


    “He’s a keeper,” she whispers. “Any man who lets you pick the cereal is marriage material.”


    Nick chuckles, slipping his arm around my waist. “She’s the keeper.”


    The drive back to his cabin isfortable, filled with easy conversation about nothing important. I help him unload the bags and put everything away.


    “This ce needs some life,” I say, arranging the fruit in a bowl.


    “It’s a rental.”


    “Still, you’re here for over a month. Might as well try to make it feel like home.”


    His smile slightly fades. “I haven’t been anywhere that feels like home since I moved out of my mom’s house when I was eighteen.”


    This hurts my heart. “Why?”


    He shrugs. “I’m not sure. Maybe because I haven’t been happy in a long time. Nothing has ever felt permanent.”


    “Are you happy now?”


    “I’m working on it,” he admits.


    “Well, if I were staying here, I’d have already hung string lights and bought a stack of fun throw pillows.”


    He’s smiling at me in a way that makes me forget everything. “Tomorrow, I made reservations to do sunrise yoga in the square.”


    “You’re joking. I love yoga.”


    “Autumn told me.” Nick licks his lips. “Fake boyfriends love doing yoga with their girlfriends. It’s a very coupley thing to do.”


    Iugh. “Fine. But it’s going to be hard. You have to promise not toin the entire time.”


    “Are you kidding me? My stamina … unheard of. I can do nks for hours,” he says.


    “I look forward to it,” I tell him as we load into the Range Rover and he drives me home.


    After parking on the street, Nick walks me to my condo, and there’s a moment where we both pause. In a real rtionship, this would be when he kisses me goodbye. The air between us crackles with that knowledge.


    “Thanks for today,” he says instead.


    I unlock the door but hesitate. “See you at dawn.”


    “It’ll be fun.”


    “That’s what you’re saying now. The instructor, Jessie, is a beast.”


    He leans forward and gives me a tight hug. I walk inside and look in the peephole, watching him walk away. He’s grinning, and so am I.


    I move to my kitchen, needing water because I feel parched.


    Autumn


    Saw the grocery store pics. You two are ADORABLE.


    ire


    Linda says he called you a keeper!!!


    Autumn


    WHAT?! Details. Now.


    Julie


    Holy shit. I just got home. How did you know any of this happened?


    I move to my couch and turn on the TV.


    ire


    Fairy Godmothers are camped out all over Cozy Creek, trying to get a peek of you two.


    She sends a photo of Nick’s hand on my back, and me looking up at him with what can only be described as heart eyes.


    Julie


    Please tell me that picture wasn’t sent to the entire book club chat.


    Autumn


    I really need to join book club again.


    ire


    It was. It’s like a live action feed of what’s going on with you two.


    Julie


    We are JUST friends!


    Autumn


    Friends who look at each other like they’re starving and at a buffet.


    Julie


    Okay, but he is hot! What do you expect?


    ire


    I want a hot man for autumn. WTF?! I’m so jealous! I’m going to die alone with my cat!


    Autumn


    No, you’re not. It’s just a matter of time.


    Julie


    IT ISN’T REAL!


    My phone vibrates with another text.


    Craig


    Really? Already parading him around town? I thought you had more respect for yourself.


    My heart immediately races when I see it’s Craig. It’s not a weing feeling. I take a screenshot and send it to my bestie chat but refuse to respond to him. I’m not letting him ruin this … whatever this is.


    Autumn


    Wow, he’s jealous!


    ire


    He should be.


    Another textes through.


    Nick


    Thanks for today.


    He sends me a picture of an oversized bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.


    Nick


    Girl dinner.


    Julie


    Happy for you.


    Nick


    Happy for us.


    I set my phone down and head to my bedroom, already nning what I’ll wear in the morning for our yoga session.


    I pull out a sports bra and some sexy leggings with cutouts on the thighs.


    For the rest of the night, I’m going to let myself enjoy the flutter in my stomach when I think about his hand on my back, the way he said, “She’s the keeper,” and how he listened to me talk about apples and cereal like it mattered.


    I shouldn’t be enjoying myself this much with him, but I am. And I don’t give a single damn about it. Neither does he.