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“Can you believe it? I thought this would take a few more months, even a year, but it’s happening, Soph. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Elated for him, I laughed and kissed and celebrated with him. I recalled the way he was on the first day in this office at the beginning of summer, all grumpy face when I suggested changing his logo. Today, his eyes crinkled in the corners, his blues shiny.
“Happiness is a good look for you. Sexy even,” I purred.
“We make a great team. Too bad we have to break up soon,” he blurted, probably joking. But my stomach flipped, the moment ruined. It must have registered on my face. My shoulders deflated as he set me back on the floor.
"We knew that going in, right? But a fake divorce doesn’t have to be the end of us, does it?” He cocked his head, his hands caressing my sides. “Or maybe we could talk to Melanie about extending, try to ride this wave a little longer.”
“This wave…” Hurt, I jumped in before I could think better of it and said, “But a divorce could be just as dramatic for marketing implications. Think of the fan reactions. We could fill a restaurant in no time."
“Divorce?” His lips flatlined. Our celebration of a minute ago vanished. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”
“We do.”
“I have to head back to the Hops, but we’ll talk tonight, okay?”
I watched him leave, the weight of our conversation pressing on my chest like a heavy storm front of dark clouds thundering in. We’d climbed a mountain of his dreams together, the momentum building like magic. But as soon as we neared the summit, reality crept in, reminding me of the temporary nature of our situation. I told myself not to overthink it.
What did he want? For that matter, what did I want? I held onto the believe that there was still a chance to figure out what came next for us.
A few hours later, the Hops buzzed with its usual after-dinner crowd. I camped out at the cozy corner both with my laptop open, staring at the wall of Keaton’s games. I mentally cataloged the day, between Griffin’s reappearance and everything left unsaid between Keaton and me, and tried to work on a few things.
“Hey gorgeous.” He suddenly appeared at my side. I scooted over and let him sit next to me. He kissed my temple, then he must have noticed my screen.
"Post-ninety-day career opportunities?" he read aloud, tone unreadable.
I closed the laptop too quickly. "It’s nothing. Just brainstorming, after our earlier conversation. Thinking ahead. "
He nodded, but something in his jaw flexed. "Right. Of course."
I hated that he saw it. Hated how his jaw ticked like he was trying not to react. But I couldn’t lie. Reality crashed in. This thing we were doing had an expiration date.
Before I could say more, a couple wandered over. Tourists. Early thirties. Matching flannel shirts.
"Oh my God,” the woman gushed. "You’re Keaton and Sophie, right? FromBrewed for Love? We adore you two. You’re like the perfect married couple. Too good to be true!"
Keaton chuckled politely. I smiled through my teeth, without it reaching my eyes. “Thank you," I said.
They asked for a photo. We obliged. They left. Jessa called him over to help with something behind the bar.
“I’ll be home late tonight. Don’t wait up.” He left me there, without a kiss or a smile. He’d said we should talk, but now…?
The illusion we'd built around us as a married couple shook, fragile to the core. Cracks formed at the edges.
My phone buzzed again, notifying of an email incoming.
Subject: Check-In Reminder - Required Filming This Week
Melanie and her camera crew would be here soon, for another round of Keaton and I pretending to be what we weren’t.
The perfect married couple?
Too good to be true, the tourists had said. They were right.
With every passing hour, it felt less like a countdown to freedom and more like a time bomb I wasn’t sure my heart could survive.
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