Rule #1 of fake dating: never attend a small-town fair where everyone knows everyone and the gossip spreads faster than deep-fried Oreos.
Rule #2? Never wear matching shirts.
Eli and I break both.
We're at the Chestnut Hollow Annual Spring Festival, standing under a giant arch of balloons that smells like popcorn and nostalgia, and yes, we're wearing coordinating outfits.
Don't ask.
"Why do we match?" I hiss as we pass a couple of teenagers openly whispering behind a candy apple stand.
"Because my mother bought us these shirts," Eli says, deadpan. "She said we 'looked adorable' and threatened to remove me from the will if I didn't wear mine."
"Your mom terrifies me."
"She terrifies all of us."
Our shirts say "LOVE IS IN THE AIR" in bold red letters.
Mine has a ketchup stain on the L.
Perfect.
We haven't even made it to the Ferris wheel when disaster strikes.
Cue dramatic music.
Enter: Olivia.
Eli's ex.
She's tall, blonde, with the kind of cheekbones that look sculpted by a very bored angel and the cold, calculating smile of someone who grew up knowing their Instagram account would one day have a PR team.
She materializes like a boss battle, holding a pink poodle on a leash and a churro in the other hand.
"Well, well," she purrs. "Didn't expect to see you here, Eli. And with…this."
This = me.
I smile like a shark in lipstick. "Hi, I'm This. So nice to meet you."
Eli coughs into his hand to hide a laugh. Olivia doesn't.
"Oh," she says, "you're that girl. The one pretending to be his girlfriend."
The churro trembles in her hand like it knows it's about to witness a murder.
I step forward, smiling sweetly. "Pretending? No, no. We only fake pretend in the mornings. The evenings are for real feelings and hand-holding and slow-burn eye contact."
Olivia's eyes narrow. "Still the same sarcastic little man-child, huh, Eli?"
Eli shrugs. "You always said that was part of my charm."
"Along with the emotional unavailability and commitment issues."
Wow. We're really going there.
"Didn't stop you from proposing in Cabo," Eli mutters.
"I was drunk and you had abs."
I step between them. "Okay! So much unresolved tension here. Should I leave you two alone to wrestle it out? Or—wait—are we past that? Do I need to sign a waiver before you trauma-bond again?"
They both blink at me.
Eli's hand finds mine.
"It's not like that," he says, quieter now. "It never was."
I squeeze his hand, and not just for show this time.
But then—because the universe is cruel and thrives on dramatic timing—Eli's phone buzzes.
It's his mom.
He checks the screen, frowns, then says, "I have to take this."
He walks away.
And just like that, Olivia turns to me with a look that would freeze lava.
"You know this is going to fall apart, right?"
"Cute," I say. "Your concern. Totally fake, but adorable."
"You don't belong in his world."
I roll my eyes. "Oh, is this the part where you tell me I'm not good enough?"
"No," she says, stepping closer. "This is the part where I tell you he's going to ruin you. Because he doesn't know how not to."
And before I can tell her exactly what she can do with her churro, she turns on her heel and sashays away like a villain with a very expensive skincare routine.
---
I find Eli near the petting zoo, staring at a llama like it holds the answers to his life.
"What did your mom say?" I ask, still vibrating with rage.
"She thinks Miles bribed a witness. And there's now a second lawyer involved."
I groan. "Cool. So your family drama just turned into a courtroom reality show."
He nods. Then: "What did Olivia want?"
"To warn me."
"About what?"
I hesitate.
Should I tell him? Should I let him in?
"She said… you'd ruin me."
He flinches.
Not a full-body recoil, but enough that it hits me—he believes it.
"That's not true," I say, softer now. "She doesn't know you. Not like I do."
Eli doesn't answer.
Instead, he looks at the llama and says, "That animal has seen things."
I burst out laughing. Because I need to. Because if I don't, I'll do something reckless like grab his face and kiss him in front of a bunch of kids feeding goats.
We end the day riding the Ferris wheel. Eli's hand finds mine again, this time slower, more hesitant.
"Hey," he says, when we're at the top. "About what Olivia said—"
"I don't care," I interrupt. "Let her eat her churro in bitterness. You and me? We've got matching shirts and maybe, just maybe, something real."
He looks at me.
Like really looks.
And right as the ride jolts and starts to descend, he leans in
and the scene cuts out before the kiss lands.