The Sunday drive back to the city felt heavier than the trip out.
Tessa sat in the passenger seat, watching the trees blur into strip malls, then into concrete and glass. The lake seemed like another universe now—one where she’d caught glimpses of a version of herself she didn’t quite recognize.
Laughing, relaxed, tucked into a family that wasn’t hers but almost felt like it could be.
She shook the thought off. Dangerous.
“You’re quiet,” Caleb said, flicking on his turn signal.
“I’m thinking,” she said.
“About?” he prompted.
She hesitated. “How easily I could… get used to that,” she admitted. “The… house. The lake. The… familiarness of it all.”
He shot her a quick glance. “Is that… bad?”
“It’s…” She searched for the word. “Scary.”
He nodded once, jaw tight. “I get that.”
“Do you?” she pressed.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve… used that house as an escape valve for years. Whenever the office gets too loud, or my parents get too… much. I go there. I pretend the rest of it doesn’t exist.”
“You can do that,” she said. “Pretend. For a weekend. For me, it’s like… stepping into someone else’s skin. It doesn’t… belong to me.”
He drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Does it have to?”
She stared out the window. “Yes. Eventually. If I’m going to… build anything solid. I can’t… borrow a life forever.”
He swallowed. “You think that’s what this is? Borrowing my life?”
She winced. “That came out wrong.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It didn’t. It’s… probably true.”
They drove in silence for a while.
“I don’t… want you to feel like a guest pass,” he said finally. “Or an accessory. Or… charity.”
“I know,” she said. “And I’m not… saying that’s how you see me. I’m saying… that’s how it could become. If I’m not careful. If we’re not careful.”
“Right,” he murmured.
They fell quiet again. The traffic thickened. The skyline loomed.
“So,” he said eventually. “Next checkpoint. My cousin’s engagement party. In two weeks. Very boring. Very fancy. Low emotional stakes.”
She laughed weakly. “You have a different definition of low-stakes than I do.”
“And then… after that,” he said, “we reassess. See how we’re both… holding up.”
Her chest tightened. “Two weeks.”
He nodded. “We’ll be halfway through our… three months.”
She swallowed. “Right.”
Halfway.
Somehow, that marker felt both too close and unthinkably far.
He pulled up in front of her building, shifted into park.
“Rule nine,” he said. “Check in when you’re home.”
“Bossy,” she said, unbuckling.
“Responsible,” he corrected.
She opened the door, the familiar ache of parting tugging at her chest.
“Caleb?”
“Yeah?” he said.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For… the lake. For… sharing that with me.”
His eyes darkened. “Thank you,” he said. “For coming. For… staying.”
She smiled, heart stuttering. “Partners?”
“Partners,” he echoed.
She got out, waved once, and climbed the stairs.
Inside her apartment, the familiar clutter grounded her. Mail on the table. A half-eaten bag of chips on the counter. Lana’s sweatshirt draped over the back of a chair from her last visit.
Her phone buzzed.
> Caleb: Home?
> Tessa: yes. door locked. no monsters under bed.
A pause.
> Caleb: Good.
Another pause.
> Caleb: Tessa?
> Tessa: ?
> Caleb: I— …it was good. Having you there.
Her fingers hovered over the keys.
The urge rose, strong and sweet and terrifying.
*I miss you already.*
She clamped her jaw shut, literally.
Rule: No “I miss you.”
Instead, she wrote:
> Tessa: don’t get used to me saving your ass at charades.
> Caleb: You love it.
> Tessa: goodnight, Ward.
> Caleb: Goodnight, Morales.
She set the phone face-down and went to take a shower. The hot water pounded over her, washing away lake salt and sunscreen and the phantom feel of his hand on her back.
It did nothing for the longing lodged under her ribs.
***
The week after the lake was a backslide into ordinary chaos.
Radiance hired an interim manager from another store—a woman named Cynthia who’d clearly been told to “steady the ship” and interpreted that as “be stern about pen usage.”
Leah took to calling her “Clipboard.”
“She’s not *that* bad,” Tessa said as they restocked necklaces.
“She color-codes the break schedule,” Leah grumbled. “And gave me a formal warning for being three minutes late from lunch.”
“You were ten minutes late,” Tessa pointed out.
“Time is a construct,” Leah said loftily.
The mall hummed with its usual mix of shoppers, teenagers, and mall walkers. The only notable difference was the occasional double-take when Tessa’s ring caught the light.
“Excuse me,” one customer said shyly as Tessa handed over a velvet box. “Are you… the girl from the article?”
Tessa’s stomach dropped. “What article?”
“The one about the mall guy,” the woman said, cheeks pink. “The… CEO. My sister sent it to me in our group chat. We, um… stalked your Instagram.”
Tessa forced a smile. “Wow. That’s… invasive.”
The woman laughed nervously. “Sorry. You just… looked so happy. It was nice. My fiancé…” She glanced at the man beside her. “…he hates photos. So I like seeing other people’s.”
Tessa glanced at their clasped hands. At the simple gold band on his finger, the modest diamond on hers.
“We were,” she said. “Happy.”
We are, a treacherous part of her brain tried to add.
As the couple left, Leah sidled up, eyebrows arched.
“Fan club?” she asked.
“Apparently,” Tessa muttered. “Remind me to set my Instagram to private when I get home.”
“You already did,” Leah said. “I stalked it first, remember?”
“Oh God,” Tessa groaned. “Please tell me you didn’t scroll back to my emo bangs era.”
“No promises,” Leah said.
Her phone buzzed at lunch.
> Caleb: Survived the budget meeting. Barely.
> Tessa: congratulations. I survived a woman asking if she can book you to propose to her during her ring pickup.
> Caleb: …
> Caleb: Please tell me you’re joking.
> Tessa: she said, and I quote, “Is he like… rentable?”
> Caleb: I feel cheap.
> Tessa: welcome to my world.
> Caleb: I thought I was helping you out of your world.
> Tessa: you’re making it weirder.
> Caleb: That I can believe.
She smiled, tension easing.
> Tessa: cousin engagement party details?
> Caleb: Saturday. Uptown hotel. Cocktail attire. Prepare yourself for too many canapés and not enough genuine human connection.
> Tessa: so… your natural habitat.
> Caleb: Ouch.
He sent the time, the venue, and the dress code (“less gala, more Instagram wedding inspo”).
Lana, when informed, practically dragged Tessa to her closet.
“You’re wearing the red one,” she decreed, pulling a slinky dress off a hanger.
“No,” Tessa protested. “That’s… too much.”
“That’s exactly right,” Lana said. “These people need to know you’re not some beige accessory. You are the main event.”
“It’s his cousin’s party,” Tessa argued. “I cannot be the main anything.”
“You’re the main in his orbit,” Lana said. “Whether he admits it or not.”
Tessa rolled her eyes. “You and your metaphors.”
She let Lana talk her into the dress anyway.
***
The engagement party was held in a hotel ballroom that had clearly been designed with Instagram in mind—white walls, string lights, floral installations, a neon sign reading *Better Together* in cursive.
Caleb met her in the lobby, his gaze doing a slow, appreciative sweep when he saw her in the red dress.
“You look…” He cleared his throat. “Incredible.”
She smoothed imaginary wrinkles. “You’re contractually obligated to say that.”
“I’m pretty sure that clause was my idea,” he said.
He offered his arm. She took it.
Inside, the usual crowd milled—cousins in smart casual, aunts in tasteful dresses, uncles in suits that had seen a few too many weddings. The bride-to-be—Emily, if Tessa remembered correctly—glowed in a white cocktail dress.
“Caleb!” Emily squealed. “You came!”
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “I’m not missing free champagne and family drama.”
She laughed, then turned to Tessa. “And you must be the famous Tessa.”
“Infamous, maybe,” Tessa said, shaking her hand.
“We’ve heard so much about you,” Emily gushed. “Abby sends us screenshots of your texts.”
Tessa blinked. “She what?”
“Not the private ones,” Abby said, swooping in with a hug. “Just the funny ones. You’re the only one who can tell him off and live.”
“I feel… honored?” Tessa said.
Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remind me to disown you later, Abby.”
“Love you too,” Abby chirped.
The night followed the standard script. Speeches. Toasts. A slide show of Emily and her fiancé through the years, complete with baby pictures and unfortunate hair phases.
Tessa played her role. She laughed at the embarrassing stories. She held Caleb’s hand. She danced with him when the DJ shifted into generic pop.
“You’re getting good at this,” he murmured in her ear as they swayed.
“At what?” she asked. “Pretending to be a person who does this all the time?”
“At being here,” he said. “With me.”
“That’s the job, right?” she said lightly. “Fake fiancée for hire.”
His expression shuttered. “Is that what it feels like to you?”
Her stomach dipped. “I was… joking.”
“Were you?” he asked quietly.
She pulled back, searching his face.
“This is…” She gestured between them. “Complicated. I’m allowed to… make jokes to make it… less heavy.”
“I know,” he said. “Just… sometimes it’s hard to tell where the joke ends.”
He looked away, jaw tight.
“Caleb…” she began.
An older woman intercepted them, tottering on heels, perfume cloud preceding her.
“Caleb, darling,” she cooed. “There you are.”
“Aunt Lillian,” he said, paste-on smile snapping into place.
“And this must be the fiancée.” Lillian’s gaze swept over Tessa from head to toe, lingering in that particular way expensive women did—cataloguing brands, cut, posture.
“Tessa,” Tessa said, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Charming,” Lillian said, not taking it. “Quite… unexpected.”
Caleb’s shoulders tensed.
“Aunt Lillian,” he said coolly. “Tessa works at one of our properties. She’s smart. Capable. And far too polite to walk away from this conversation, which is more than I can say for myself.”
Lillian’s lips thinned. “I simply meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he said, voice steel. “Say it plainly or don’t say it at all.”
Lillian’s eyes flashed. “Very well. I thought you’d choose… differently.”
“You mean whiter,” Abby said, appearing at Tessa’s elbow like an avenging angel. “And richer. And less ‘from the wrong side of your imaginary tracks.’”
Silence fell in their little circle. The dance floor moved around them, oblivious.
Lillian sputtered. “I didn’t—”
“You did,” Abby said. “And it was gross. Try again.”
Caleb’s hand tightened on Tessa’s. She squeezed back, throat tight.
“For the record,” Caleb said quietly, eyes locked on Lillian, “I chose *better*.”
Lillian’s nostrils flared. “This family—”
“Will survive your disapproval,” Elise cut in, materializing like a silver-haired wraith. “Go sit down, Lillian. You’re three champagnes past coherent bigotry.”
Lillian’s mouth dropped. Then she spun and stalked off, heels clicking angrily.
Tessa stood there, stunned.
“Sorry about that,” Abby muttered. “She’s… a lot.”
“You didn’t have to…” Tessa began.
“Yes, I did,” Abby said. “If you’re going to join this circus, we have to make sure the clowns know the new rules.”
Elise looked at Tessa, eyes sharp.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” Tessa lied. “Fine. Great. Love being the diversity hire.”
Caleb flinched.
“You are not a hire,” he said, voice rough. “You are—”
“Enough,” Elise said sharply. “Not here.”
She looked at Tessa, something like reluctant protectiveness in her gaze.
“If you want to leave,” she said, “we can manufacture an exit. I’ll fake a heart episode. I could use the nap.”
Despite everything, Tessa barked a laugh. “I’m… okay,” she said. “Really.”
“You sure?” Caleb asked quietly.
She looked around. At the twinkling lights. At Abby glaring daggers at Lillian’s retreating back. At Elise, standing guard.
At Caleb, his jaw clenched, eyes full of apology and fury on her behalf.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m not… running. Not because of her.”
Something like pride flickered in his expression.
“All right, then,” Elise said. “I’ll save my fake-heart-attack performance for another day.”
She floated away, probably to terrorize someone else.
Abby squeezed Tessa’s arm and melted back into the crowd.
Left alone again, Tessa and Caleb stood for a moment in the bubble left by the confrontation.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t have had to—”
“Don’t,” she cut in. “Don’t apologize for her. Or for your family. Not… like that.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Like you’re responsible for every crappy thing they say,” she said. “You’re not. You called it out. Abby called it out. Elise shut her down. That’s more than most families do.”
He exhaled slowly. “You’re handling this better than I am.”
“I’ve had practice,” she said. “People making assumptions. Saying things… sideways.”
He frowned. “You shouldn’t.”
“I know,” she said. “But I do. It’s… life.”
He looked at her then, really looked, like he was seeing the weight of all the sideways comments she’d ever swallowed.
“It’s not fair,” he said quietly.
“Life isn’t,” she said. “But I’m… used to that.”
He squeezed her hand. “You shouldn’t have to be.”
The urge to lean into him, to let his anger on her behalf shore her up, nearly overwhelmed her.
Instead, she forced a small smile.
“Dance?” she suggested.
His brows rose. “Now?”
“Yes,” she said. “Before someone else decides to give us their unsolicited opinion on our relationship.”
He huffed a laugh. “Lead the way.”
On the dance floor, under the fairy lights, they moved together again. This time, there was a new layer between them—thin but solid as glass.
He held her closer than was strictly necessary for appearances. She let him.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For… choosing me. Even if your aunt thinks I’m… not up to spec.”
His grip tightened. “Spec can go to hell.”
She smiled against his shoulder.
As the song faded, the DJ shifted into something slower, older.
He didn’t let her go.
“Tessa,” he murmured, voice low.
“Yeah?” she said, breath warm against his collarbone.
“This is… dangerous,” he said.
“What is?” she asked, though she knew.
“This,” he said. “You. Me. Fake… real… whatever this is.”
Her heart pounded. “We have rules,” she reminded him.
He laughed softly. “Rules.”
He lifted his head, looked down at her.
The room blurred at the edges. All she could see was his face, his eyes, the soft curve of his mouth.
“Remind me,” he whispered. “Again. Before I forget.”
“No sex,” she breathed.
“Right,” he said.
“No kissing when nobody’s watching,” she continued.
His gaze flicked around. People danced. Talked. Watched.
“We’re safe,” he said. “For now.”
“No sharing a bed,” she said.
“Definitely not,” he agreed, voice rough.
“No falling in love,” she finished, the words tasting like ash.
He flinched, just slightly.
“Right,” he said. “That.”
The song ended. The spell broke. Someone bumped into them. They stepped apart.
“Can we… leave?” he asked, voice a notch too tight.
“God, yes,” she said.
They slipped out a side door into the cool night, away from the noise and the lights and the opinions.
The alley behind the hotel was empty, lit by a single flickering bulb. The city hummed beyond.
They stood there, breathing, the quiet washing over them.
“I hate that for a second,” he said, staring at the brick wall, “I forgot this was… fake.”
The words landed like a blow and a balm all at once.
“Yeah,” she said hoarsely. “Me too.”
He turned, eyes dark.
“That’s a problem,” he said.
“I know,” she said.
“We could… stop,” he offered, voice strained. “Now. Before…”
“Before what?” she asked softly. “Before it hurts more when we… tear it off?”
He swallowed. “Yeah.”
She thought of the lake. Of her mother. Of Elise’s sharp gaze. Of Denby’s absence. Of the rent due. Of hospital bills. Of the way his hand had felt on her back on the dock.
“We made promises,” she said. “To your family. To my mom. To… each other.”
“We can break them,” he said. “We can… adjust.”
She laughed weakly. “You’re really bad at quitting things, you know that?”
“I’m confused as hell about what I’m doing,” he said. “That’s what I am.”
She looked at him. Really looked.
“You’re… in this,” she said quietly. “Aren’t you.”
He laughed, short and humorless. “So are you.”
She opened her mouth to deny, to deflect.
Nothing came out.
He took a step closer. Her back bumped the cool brick of the wall.
Danger flared.
“No,” she said, voice thin. “We can’t…”
He stopped, inches away. Braced his hand on the wall beside her head, not touching her.
“I know,” he said. “I’m not going to… cross that line. Not here. Not like this.”
She let out a shaky breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“But I need you to know something,” he said, voice low.
Her heart hammered. “What?”
“That whether this is… fake, or real, or somewhere in between,” he said, “I haven’t… felt like this in a long time.”
Her pulse roared in her ears.
“Like what?” she whispered.
“Like I’m not… performing,” he said. “Not with you. Except when we have to. For them. The rest of the time, it feels… like the only honest part of my day.”
Her eyes stung.
“That’s…” She laughed, watery. “Really unfair to say to a girl who is very committed to her rules.”
“I’m not asking you to break them,” he said quickly. “I’m just… breaking my own. The one where I don’t say things like that out loud.”
“Good,” she said. “Because if you ask, I might… say yes. And then we’re both screwed.”
He smiled crookedly. “That’s one way to put it.”
They stood there, breaths mingling, the weight of all the unspoken heavy between them.
“We should go,” she said finally. “Before someone wonders where we are and comes looking. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for another Lillian.”
“Agreed,” he said, stepping back.
They walked to the car in silence.
Halfway home, he reached for her hand again, lacing their fingers without looking.
She didn’t pull away.
***
It happened two nights later.
It had been a long day. A customer had had a meltdown over a lost layaway receipt. Leah had sprained her ankle slipping on a rogue earring back. Cynthia had scheduled a 7 a.m. staff meeting for “team reflection.”
By the time Tessa trudged up the stairs to her apartment, she was one frayed nerve away from snapping.
A storm had rolled in while she was on the bus. Thunder rumbled. Rain sluiced down the windows in sheets.
Inside, the apartment was dark. Quiet. Lana was at her boyfriend’s.
Tessa kicked off her shoes, dumped her bag, and changed into sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. She microwaved canned soup. She stared at the ring on her finger, glinting in the flicker of the TV.
Her phone buzzed.
> Caleb: How was 7am “team reflection”?
She smiled tiredly.
> Tessa: imagine a trust fall, but with clipboards and passive-aggressive comments.
> Caleb: Sounds… enriching.
> Tessa: enriching my hatred of mornings.
> Caleb: You home?
> Tessa: yeah. just me, my soup, and a thunderstorm.
Three dots.
> Caleb: I’m ten minutes away.
Her heart jolted.
> Tessa: …what?
> Caleb: I was at a dinner downtown. Drove past your street. Saw the lightning. Thought of you.
Her pulse raced.
> Tessa: you didn’t have to—
> Caleb: I know.
He didn’t send an emoji. Didn’t send a winky face. Just that.
I know.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed:
> Tessa: door’s unlocked.
Three minutes later, a knock sounded anyway.
She opened it.
He stood there, damp at the edges, hair slightly mussed from the rain, tie undone, shirt open at the throat.
“You locked it,” he said, half amused, half reproachful.
She blinked. Looked at the deadbolt. “Muscle memory.”
He smiled tiredly. “Good. Don’t change that for me.”
She stepped aside. He came in, shaking off his coat. Drops of water speckled the floor.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she said.
They stood there for a moment in the small entryway, the storm a low roar outside.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No,” she said truthfully. “But… soup helps.”
He looked at the mug on the coffee table. “Fancy.”
“You should see my wine pairings,” she deadpanned.
He laughed softly. Then his gaze swept the apartment, taking in the mismatched furniture, the thrift-store art, the chipped mug on the coffee table.
He looked… oddly at home.
“I like it here,” he said.
“You’ve seen it once,” she said.
“I liked it then too,” he said. “It looks like somewhere a person actually lives. Not… decorates for a magazine.”
“You’re saying my throw pillows don’t scream Architectural Digest?” she asked.
“I’m saying your throw pillows scream ‘I bought these on sale because they were soft,’ which is much more endearing,” he said.
She smiled, warmth blossoming despite her exhaustion.
“You look beat,” she said, really taking him in. The faint slump of his shoulders. The shadows under his eyes.
“I am,” he admitted. “But… if I went home, I’d just… stare at my ceiling and think about spreadsheets. I’d rather… be here. Staring at your ceiling. Thinking about soup.”
Her heart did that dangerous lurch again.
“We can… not talk,” she offered. “Just… coexist. Watch bad TV. Judgmentally.”
“That sounds…” He exhaled. “Amazing.”
They ended up on the couch, three feet of safe, rule-abiding space between them. The storm rolled on outside. They put on a cooking competition show and heckled the contestants.
“You can’t serve undercooked chicken,” Tessa groaned. “This is national television, not college.”
“He’s about to poison the judges,” Caleb said, horrified.
“He’s about to poison *Gordon Ramsey*,” she corrected. “That’s double prison time.”
At some point, she realized her head had tipped back against the cushion. Her eyes were half-closed. The rhythm of the rain was hypnotic.
“You should sleep,” Caleb murmured.
“You too,” she mumbled.
They didn’t move.
The next thing she knew, thunder cracked overhead, loud and sudden. She jolted awake.
It was dark. The TV was off. The only light came from the streetlamp outside, casting a hazy glow through the curtains.
Something heavy and warm was draped over her.
She blinked.
Caleb’s arm.
Her head was on his chest, ear pressed against the steady thump of his heart. One of his arms wrapped around her shoulders. His other hand rested loosely on her hip.
Their legs were tangled. Her bare foot brushed his calf where his pant leg had ridden up.
Panic and heat slammed into her at once.
Rule. Rules. So many rules.
She froze.
For a wild, irrational moment, she considered staying very, very still and pretending this wasn’t happening. That she was still dreaming.
Then his heart rate kicked up under her ear. His arm tightened fractionally.
He was awake.
“Hey,” he whispered, voice rough with sleep. “It’s okay.”
“No,” she whispered back, throat tight. “It’s… not. We…”
She tried to sit up. His hand flexed on her hip, stopping her.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You’ll fall.”
She looked down. One of her feet dangled off the couch. If she lurched, she’d definitely hit the coffee table.
“I—” She swallowed. “We broke a rule.”
“We fell asleep,” he said. “Accidentally. On a couch.”
“No sharing a bed,” she said, a little hysterical. “No… this. This is… this.”
He huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh.
“A couch is not a bed,” he said softly.
“It’s… bed-adjacent,” she shot back.
His chest shook. “You trying to lawyer your way out of this isn’t making it less… nice.”
Her breath hitched. “Don’t say that.”
“It is,” he insisted quietly. “Nice. Comfortable. I… didn’t mean to. Just… closed my eyes for a second and then…”
“Me too,” she admitted.
They lay there, breaths mingling, hearts racing.
“We should… move,” she said. “Before… anything.”
“Before what?” he asked, voice low. “Before we… acknowledge that this feels…”
“Too good,” she whispered, the words ripped from her.
Silence.
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “That.”
Thunder rumbled again. Rain drummed on the windows.
He loosened his arm. “I’ll… go,” he said. “We can… pretend this didn’t happen. Blame the storm.”
She pushed herself up, the loss of his warmth like a cold shock.
She stood, unsteady.
They faced each other in the dim light, hair mussed, clothes rumpled. The intimacy of it—unguarded, unplanned—felt more naked than any gown or suit.
“We can’t…” She gestured between them. “Do that again.”
“Agreed,” he said, though his eyes said something else. “Rules.”
“Rules,” she echoed weakly.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”
“You better,” she said, because it was easier than saying *Don’t go.*
At the door, he paused.
“Tessa?”
She braced herself. “Yeah?”
“This…” He searched for the word. “…happening. Falling asleep. It wasn’t… nothing.”
Her chest ached. “I know.”
“But it also…” He exhaled. “Doesn’t have to mean… everything.”
She nodded, throat burning.
“We are allowed,” he continued quietly, as if reminding himself as much as her, “to make mistakes. To… adjust. To rewrite rules if we need to.”
Her voice came out a whisper. “Do we need to?”
He met her gaze. Something raw and terrifying flickered there.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Yet.”
He left.
She closed the door and slid down it, hugging her knees, heart pounding.
For the first time since they’d started this whole charade, she wasn’t entirely sure whose lines they were crossing anymore.
Or if there was any way to go back.
***
*To be continued…*