The kiss lingered.
In the days that followed, it hovered at the edge of everything—work, texts, errands. Like a song stuck on repeat, just loud enough to distract but not enough to drown out the rest of life.
At Radiance, every time a customer asked about “stones with meaning,” Tessa had to fight the urge to answer, “Apparently, lips can do that too.”
She kept catching herself touching her mouth absently, as if checking it was still there. Still her own.
“You have chapstick?” Leah asked at one point, watching her.
“What? Yes,” Tessa said quickly. “Why?”
“Because you keep… doing this.” Leah mimed running a thumb over her bottom lip. “Like a romance heroine in a commercial.”
Tessa dropped her hand like it had burned her. “Allergies.”
“Uh-huh,” Leah said. “Allergies named Caleb.”
Tessa glared. “Mind your own love life.”
“I would,” Leah said, “if it were even a fraction as interesting.”
Despite her raised hackles, part of Tessa thrilled at that. That their fake, precarious, increasingly messy thing was… interesting. Worth watching.
The kiss had changed something. That much was clear.
Not in the way she’d feared, exactly—not a complete collapse of boundaries, not a rush of “Well, we broke one rule, might as well break them all.”
If anything, they were more careful now. More guarded. More… aware.
Their texts grew a slight edge.
> Caleb: Board meeting. Everyone arguing about escalator placement like it’s religion.
> Tessa: I would watch that documentary.
> Caleb: You’re the only one.
> Tessa: you’re making me feel special again. dangerous.
> Caleb: You are special. That’s the problem.
She stared at that for a long time before replying.
> Tessa: stop.
> Caleb: Can’t.
Her pulse skipped.
In person, they were… almost shy for a few days. He didn’t reach for her hand as quickly. She sat a little farther away on couches. They both flinched, just a hair, whenever their knees brushed under tables.
The kiss sat between them like a third person they were both studiously pretending not to notice.
And yet, little cracks kept appearing in their resolve.
At a Sunday dinner at Elise’s, he watched her tell a story about a customer trying to return a clearly worn prom necklace, and his expression was… open. Soft. The look of a man… gone.
Elise saw it. Tessa saw *her* seeing it.
After dinner, as they walked in the garden, Elise fell into step beside Tessa.
“You did it, didn’t you,” she said without preamble.
Tessa nearly tripped. “What?”
“You broke a rule,” Elise said. “A big one.”
Heat flooded Tessa’s face. “We… kissed.”
Elise nodded, unsurprised. “And?”
“And… what?” Tessa spluttered. “And it was… good. And terrible. And confusing.”
“Mostly good,” Elise said shrewdly. “Or you wouldn’t look like that.”
“Like what?” Tessa demanded.
“Like you’ve just seen the northern lights and aren’t sure if they were real,” Elise said.
Tessa groaned. “Your metaphors are too accurate. It’s rude.”
“Metaphors are the only way to talk about feelings without scaring people,” Elise said. “So. What now?”
“We said… one,” Tessa whispered. “We’re… not doing it again.”
Elise looked at her for a long, skeptical moment.
“Mm,” she said. “Good luck with that.”
Tessa glared. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m not here to help,” Elise said. “I’m here to… observe. And occasionally… nudge.”
“Your nudges feel like bulldozers,” Tessa muttered.
Elise snorted. “Flattery.”
Later, in the car on the way back to Tessa’s apartment, Caleb cleared his throat.
“So,” he said, eyes on the road. “Emily texted.”
“Your cousin?” Tessa asked. “Is the engagement party aunt still plotting my deportation?”
He smiled. “No more deportation threats. Emily’s asking if we’d be willing to do a joint engagement shoot.”
Tessa’s stomach dropped. “Engagement… photos?”
“She booked a photographer for their wedding,” he said. “The woman offered a package. ‘Two couples for the price of one.’ Emily thought it’d be ‘fun and cute’ if we… did ours together.”
“Fun,” Tessa repeated hollowly.
“We can say no,” he said quickly. “I told her we’d… think about it.”
Images flashed in her mind—Caleb’s arms around her, his face close, a camera capturing angles of them that felt too… exposed.
“You want to?” she asked carefully.
He hesitated. “On a purely… strategic level, it’d… cement the story. Make it harder for my aunt to spin theories. Give us… material if we need to post something later.”
“And on a non-strategic level?” she asked.
His hands tightened on the wheel. “I… don’t hate the idea of… having a photo of you. With me. That isn’t… staged for a press release.”
Her heart lurched.
“That’s…” She laughed weakly. “We’re so bad at keeping this simple.”
“We were never going to,” he said. “We’re both too… complicated.”
She sighed. “When would it be? The shoot.”
“Next Saturday,” he said. “Late afternoon. Golden hour. Of course.”
“Of course,” she muttered. “Photographers and romance authors love golden hour.”
“We can say no,” he repeated. “Seriously. I can blame… work. Or… your mom. Or… my imaginary religious beliefs.”
“You’re not religious,” she said.
“Exactly,” he said. “Very convincing lie.”
She smiled despite herself. Then sobered.
“I think…” She chewed her lip. “I think… we should. Do it.”
He glanced over, surprised. “You do?”
“If we’re… in this,” she said slowly. “Actually in it. Not just… faking. Then… we might as well… document. The mess. For posterity.”
He laughed softly. “You’re very brave.”
“I’m very stupid,” she said.
“Same thing, sometimes,” he said.
She took a breath. “Okay. Tell Emily… yes. On one condition.”
He tensed. “Name it.”
“No… kissing shots,” she said. “No… almost-kisses. No ‘whisper something in her ear and make her laugh.’”
He smiled faintly. “You’ve seen a lot of engagement shoots.”
“I follow photographers on Instagram when I’m procrastinating,” she said. “It’s… a sickness.”
“Agreed,” he said. “And agreed. We’ll keep it… PG-13. Hands. Smiles. The occasional forehead nuzzle at most.”
“Forehead nuzzle is very dangerous,” she warned.
He huffed a laugh. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”
“You better,” she said, but her own smile was traitorously warm.
***
The week leading up to the shoot felt like its own weird countdown.
Lana reacted to the news with the appropriate level of shrieking.
“You’re doing COUPLES PHOTOS,” she gasped. “With *him.* Like… printed. Framed. On walls.”
“Not my walls,” Tessa protested. “His family’s walls. Maybe. If they don’t photoshop me out.”
Lana flopped dramatically onto the couch. “Can I come watch? I’ll hide in a bush.”
“No,” Tessa said. “Absolutely not.”
“Fine,” Lana pouted. Then her eyes gleamed. “Outfit planning. Now.”
Between her and Abby—who texted daily with updates like “I told the photographer you and Caleb are VERY into laughter, be ready to fake giggle”—Tessa’s anxiety level hovered at a steady hum.
She tried to tamp it down with practical concerns.
Pick clothes that fit. Don’t forget powder so you don’t shine like a disco ball. Practice not looking like you’re about to be executed in front of the camera.
It didn’t work.
What weighed on her more was the kiss. Still. The fact that they’d deliberately broken a rule, even in a controlled, one-time way.
And the knowledge that, if given the chance, she’d do it again.
Caleb, for his part, seemed… more at ease with that taboo than she was. Not cavalier. But… less rattled.
When she snapped at him over text one day about a throwaway comment on her “mall-rat roots,” he gently called her out.
> Caleb: That was a joke. But it wasn’t funny. I’m sorry.
> Tessa: I know it was a joke. I’m just… on edge.
> Caleb: Because of… us?
She stared at the glowing letters. Then forced herself to type.
> Tessa: yes. and work. and my mom. and the national debt. but mostly… us.
> Caleb: I’m on edge too.
> Caleb: Maybe we should… talk after the shoot. In person.
> Tessa: are we capable of talking about anything else?
> Caleb: Probably not.
> Tessa: ok. saturday. after. post-smile debrief.
The day came faster than she expected.
Saturday dawned bright and clear. Too bright, Tessa thought grumpily as she downed coffee. The universe should really start coordinating its mood lighting with her emotional state.
She met Caleb and Abby at the park the photographer had chosen—an expanse of manicured green with a pond, a little stone bridge, and enough weeping willows to stage a Nicholas Sparks movie.
Emily and her fiancé, Mark, were already there, dressed in coordinated neutrals. The photographer, a woman in her thirties with a topknot and three cameras hanging off her body, introduced herself as Sienna.
“Okay!” Sienna chirped. “You guys look amazing. This is going to be so fun. And don’t worry, I’m going to pose you the whole time. You don’t have to know what to do with your hands.”
“Good,” Tessa muttered. “My hands have no idea.”
Caleb leaned in. “They did fine on my lapels,” he whispered.
Heat shot up her neck. “Shut up.”
“What was that?” Sienna called.
“Nothing!” Tessa and Caleb said in unison.
Sienna started with Emily and Mark, directing them into various cutesy poses—foreheads together, walking hand in hand, laughing at imaginary jokes.
Tessa watched from the sidelines, feeling like she was peeking at an alternate universe in real time. One where engagement shoots were a natural extension of a relationship that had started with coffee and grown into something with no contracts involved.
“You okay?” Caleb murmured, alarmingly tuned to her moods.
“Yeah,” she said. “Just… seeing my high school Pinterest board come to life.”
“You had a Pinterest board?” he asked, amused.
“I was a teenage girl in 2012,” she said. “It was the law.”
He chuckled.
Then it was their turn.
“Okay, lovebirds,” Sienna said, clapping her hands. “Let’s start simple. Just stand here, side by side, holding hands. Look at me.”
They did. Fingertips brushing, then linking.
“Great,” Sienna said, snapping rapidly. “Now look at each other. Laugh at something only you two know.”
Tessa glanced at Caleb.
He raised an eyebrow. “Remember when you almost murdered me with your EpiPen on our second fake date because I ordered pad thai without checking the sauce?”
She snorted. “You almost killed *yourself.* You thought peanuts were decorative.”
He laughed. The sound loosened something in her chest.
“Perfect!” Sienna said. “Whatever that was, keep that energy.”
They moved through a series of poses. Standing with his arms around her from behind. Sitting on a blanket, knees touching. Walking down a path, mid-step, his hand at the small of her back.
Every touch felt amplified. Every brush of his fingers a little spark.
“Okay,” Sienna said at one point. “Tessa, can you lean your head on his shoulder? Close your eyes. Caleb, look down at her like she’s… your favorite book.”
“That’s too accurate,” Abby called from the sidelines.
“Shut up,” Caleb muttered.
Tessa did as instructed. Closed her eyes. Rested her head against him.
His cologne enveloped her. His chest rose and fell under her cheek.
She could feel his heartbeat.
“Beautiful,” Sienna cooed. “Hold it. Breathe.”
Tessa breathed. In. Out. In. Him.
A strange, aching sense of… rightness washed over her. Of home, in a body that had always felt like it was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Okay,” Sienna chirped. “Now, Tessa, look up at him. Caleb, meet her halfway. Almost like you’re going to kiss, but not quite. Just that… moment before.”
Alarm bells went off in Tessa’s head.
“Uh,” she said. “Maybe we—”
“It’ll be gorgeous,” Sienna said. “Trust me. You’ll thank me when you see it.”
Caleb tensed under her. Their eyes met.
He didn’t move.
“Tessa?” he murmured. “Okay?”
She swallowed. The kiss-lake between them surfaced fast.
One. That had been the deal. One real kiss. No more.
This wasn’t a kiss. Not technically. Just… proximity. Suggestion.
It still felt like stepping onto a trapdoor.
But Sienna’s impatient footstep snapped her out of it. Emily and Mark had done their version of the pose three times already.
She could do this. Once. For the camera. For the story.
“Okay,” she heard herself say.
They positioned themselves. Her hands on his chest. His on her waist. Their faces inches apart.
“Perfect,” Sienna enthused. “Eyes open. Look at each other. Breathe. Just… be there.”
They were there. Too much there.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. His breath tickled her lips.
Her pulse roared.
“Okay,” Sienna said softly. “Now… almost.”
Caleb leaned in. A fraction. Enough to close half the tiny gap.
Tessa’s toes curled in her flats.
Their noses almost brushed.
From the outside, she knew, it probably looked idyllic. Romantic. The very picture of an in-love couple captured mid-not-kiss.
From the inside, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down.
“Beautiful,” Sienna breathed. “Hold…”
Tessa’s self-preservation instincts screamed.
She broke the pose. Stepped back. Laughed too loud.
“Sorry,” she said, breathless. “Bug. On my face. Or… something.”
Sienna frowned slightly, then pasted on a professional smile. “No problem! We got what we needed. Let’s move on.”
Caleb exhaled like a man who’d been underwater.
“You okay?” he asked under his breath.
“No,” she whispered. “But… yes.”
His hand brushed hers, brief and grounding.
They finished the shoot without further almosts. Sienna gushed about golden light and Instagram grids. Emily chattered about floral arrangements.
On the surface, nothing had cracked.
Inside, Tessa felt like someone had taken a chisel to the fault lines she’d so carefully reinforced.
After, as promised, they went to talk.
They ended up at a quiet café a few blocks away, both nursing drinks they barely tasted.
“So,” he said finally. “That was… something.”
“Something,” she echoed weakly.
His gaze was gentle. “You freaked.”
“Understatement,” she said. “Sorry for almost ruining Sienna’s shot.”
“You didn’t,” he said. “And even if you had, she’d survive. This is… more important.”
She stared into her untouched latte.
“I…” She took a breath. “I panicked. At the idea of… another… almost-kiss. Even staged.”
He nodded. “Because you’re… already at your limit.”
“Yes,” she said. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Honesty,” he reminded gently.
She laughed, humorless. “It’s starting to feel overrated.”
He smiled faintly. “Try anyway.”
She gripped her cup.
“That kiss,” she said, forcing the words out, “was… more than I thought it would be.”
He stilled. “Good more or bad more?”
“Both,” she said. “Good… because it… felt… like… everything. Bad because… same.”
His eyes darkened. “For me too.”
Her chest tightened. “I keep… trying to pack it into the ‘just once’ box. But every time we’re near each other, it… pushes out.”
He winced. “Yeah.”
“I don’t…” She swallowed. “I don’t trust myself not to… want more. A lot more. And I don’t trust… the situation. The power. The… fallout. If we… give in.”
He looked pained. “Me either.”
“So we—” She broke off. The next words lodged in her throat like glass.
We end it.
They hung there, unspoken and heavy.
“We don’t have to decide that… today,” he said quietly. “We’re… halfway through. Less, almost. We can… keep doing this. Carefully. Or we can… pull the ripcord. Now.”
His eyes met hers.
“If you want out,” he said, voice steady but strained, “we call Elise. We tell my parents. Your mom. We say we… realized it was too fast. Too much. That we care, but… not like that. We… walk it back.”
Her heart twisted. The idea of going back to a life without him in it—not just as her “fiancé,” but as a constant presence, a daily voice—made her stomach lurch.
“I don’t… want out,” she whispered. “Not… like that.”
He exhaled. “Me either.”
“Then what?” she demanded, frustrated tears stinging. “We… white-knuckle it? Pretend the kiss never happened? Avoid looking at each other in golden light?”
He smiled weakly. “Golden light is overrated.”
“Cameras are overrated,” she muttered.
He was quiet a moment.
“Or,” he said slowly, “we… adjust again.”
She groaned. “If you say ‘recalibrate’ one more time, I’m shoving this latte up your—”
“Fair,” he said, a flicker of genuine amusement. Then he sobered.
“I’m not suggesting we… throw the rules out,” he said. “I’m not even suggesting we… kiss again. As much as… I want to.”
Her breath hitched.
“I am suggesting,” he went on, “that we… stop pretending this is… clean. That we can separate… real from fake. Want from necessity. We’re… in too deep for that.”
“That’s not comforting,” she said.
“It’s not meant to be,” he said. “It’s meant to be… true.”
“So we just… live with it?” she asked. “With… wanting something we agreed not to have?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “For now.”
Her laugh came out shaky. “You’re very good at delayed gratification.”
“You say that like you’re not the one who’s been… holding the line,” he countered. “I’m the one asking to break rules. You’re the one… reminding me why we can’t.”
“Because I’m scared,” she admitted. “Of… what happens if we don’t.”
“Me too,” he said. “For you. For me. For… everyone around us.”
She stared at him, at the man who’d let her fall asleep on his chest, who’d kissed her like a prayer, who was offering her an out even as it clearly broke something in him to consider it.
Be honest, Elise had said.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Honesty.”
He waited.
“I…” She gripped the cup so hard the cardboard crinkled. “I’m… falling.”
His breath stalled. “Tessa—”
“I’m not…” She held up a hand, stopping him. “I’m not saying I’m… there. Fully. That I’m… in love with you. Yet. But… I can… feel it. Coming. Like a bus I see from a block away that I… cannot… get off the street from.”
He closed his eyes briefly, jaw tight.
“Thank you,” he said softly. “For… saying it. Even if it… scares the hell out of me.”
“It scares the hell out of me too,” she said. “I don’t… want this. Not like this. Not with… nine million variables and a clock ticking and your aunt measuring me against the *Financial Times.*”
He huffed a laugh that sounded like it hurt. “She measures everyone against the *Financial Times.*”
“And yet,” Tessa went on, because if she stopped now she’d never get the rest out, “I… like you. A lot. Enough that… the idea of walking away from this and going back to… just Radiance and bus rides and minion memes makes me want to… throw up.”
His eyes opened. Wet, shining.
“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I… feel it too. The… bus.”
“Is this your way of saying you’re falling?” she asked, voice a little hysterical.
“Yes,” he said simply.
She stared at him.
“You’re…” Her throat closed. “You’re not supposed to.”
“I know,” he said. “We wrote that down, remember? Rule four.”
“That stupid rule,” she whispered.
“It kept us… safe,” he said. “For a while.”
“It failed,” she said.
“No,” he countered gently. “We… outgrew it.”
She laughed, tears spilling over now. “That is the most annoyingly optimistic way to frame this disaster.”
He smiled, crooked. “Would you prefer catastrophizing? Because I can do that too. Very well.”
She sniffed, wiping her cheeks. “I’ve got that covered.”
He reached across the table, thumb catching a stray tear at the corner of her eye before she could stop him.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Look at me.”
She did. Despite herself.
“We don’t have to decide… everything… today,” he said. “We just… took a step. Out of the script. Into… something real.”
“That step felt like a cliff dive,” she muttered.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It did.”
“What if…” she began, then faltered.
“What if what?” he coaxed.
“What if this ends,” she whispered. “Badly. And I… can’t go back. To… trusting. Anyone.”
He inhaled sharply. His hand tightened around hers.
“Then I’d… spend the rest of my life hating myself,” he said. “And trying to fix whatever I broke.”
She laughed wetly. “That’s very dramatic.”
“Honest,” he said. “Not… comforting. I know. But true.”
She sighed, shoulders slumping.
“This is why people just… date,” she said. “Without contracts. Without… families. Without mall leases.”
He smiled faintly. “Normal people problems.”
“God, I want normal problems,” she said.
“We have them,” he pointed out. “Just… with extra zeros.”
She huffed a damp laugh.
They sat there for a while. Two people who’d tried very hard to game love and had ended up… exactly where everyone always did when they let someone in.
Vulnerable. Scared. Hopeful.
“What do we do now?” she asked again, quietly.
He considered.
“Now,” he said slowly, “we… tell Elise.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“She gave us a condition,” he reminded. “If this stopped being… purely performance, if one of us started… feeling… we’d tell her. Not… because she’s the feelings police. Because she understands this world. And she… cares. Probably more than is healthy.”
“You want to go to your grandmother,” Tessa said slowly, “and say, ‘Hey, we, your fake-engaged disasters, are catching real feelings, what should we do.’”
“Do you have a better plan?” he asked dryly.
She opened her mouth. Closed it.
“No,” she admitted. “I really don’t.”
He smiled, small and crooked. “I’m not saying we… hand her the reins. I’m saying we… honor what we promised. And… get her read. Before we hurt… more people than necessary.”
“Like your parents,” she said. “My mom.”
“Exactly,” he said. “If this is… doomed, she’ll tell us. If it’s… survivable, she’ll probably tell us that too. In a way that makes us want to crawl under a table, but…”
“…useful,” Tessa finished.
He nodded.
“Okay,” she said, surprising herself. “Okay. We… tell Elise.”
He blinked. “Really?”
“Really,” she said, wiping her face with the napkin. “If we’re… doing this… we might as well rip off all the band-aids at once.”
He smiled, relief and terror flickering together.
“Partners,” he said.
“Partners,” she echoed.
As they left the café, stepping back into the afternoon light, Tessa felt… strangely lighter.
Still scared. Still unsure.
But lighter.
They’d broken a rule. They’d admitted they were falling.
Now, for better or worse, they weren’t falling alone.
And somewhere, up in her office of books and sharp words, a silver-haired woman was about to get the confirmation she’d been betting on from the beginning.
***
*To be continued…*