Page 26

"Shut up and put your arm around me."

Adam dutifully drapes his arm around my shoulders, but it feels exactly like what it is, a friend giving a friendly hug rather than a romantic gesture. We both know it, and the knowing makes everything worse.

"This isn't working," I sigh, stepping away from him and nearly bumping into my tiny kitchen counter. "We look like siblings posing for a family photo."

"Uncomfortable siblings," Adam adds helpfully. "The kind who don't really like each other."

"We need to watch some movies or something. Study how couples actually behave."

"Or," Adam suggests with the tone of someone who's about to propose something he knows is a bad idea, "we could just accept that we're terrible at this and hope that formal wear and good lighting will hide our complete lack of romantic chemistry."

The phrase "complete lack of romantic chemistry" hits me harder than it should. Not because it's inaccurate, but because part of me had been hoping that possibly, we'd discover some latent attraction that would make this whole charade easier.

"We're not giving up after one practice session," I declare with determination that's mostly genuine. "We just need to approach this differently."

"How differently?"

"More... naturally. Instead of trying to force romantic gestures, let's just practice being more affectionate versions of ourselves."

To demonstrate, I move closer to Adam again, but this time I focus on relaxing rather than trying to manufacture chemistry. When I take his hand, I don't overthink the contact, but just let myself enjoy the familiar comfort of his touch.

"Better?" I ask.

"Actually, yeah," Adam says, sounding surprised. "When you're not concentrating so hard on being romantic, you just feel like... you."

"Charming. Really selling the fantasy there, Chen,” I say.

"I mean it in a good way! You feel like Belle, just... more."

"More what?" I ask.

"More present. More focused on me specifically instead of on the concept of romance in general."

His observation is more perceptive than I expected. He's right, because when I stop trying to perform romance and just focus on Adam as a person, everything feels more natural.

"Okay, let's try walking," I suggest. "Couples walk differently than friends."

We spend the next ten minutes attempting to walk around my apartment like we're romantically involved rather than just sharing space. It's harder than it sounds, partly because there's barely room for two people to walk side by side, and we keep reverting to our usual pattern of Adam automatically adjusting his longer stride to accommodate my shorter legs.

"We're overthinking this," Adam finally declares, stopping in front of my tiny bathroom and narrowly avoiding collision with the door frame. "Real couples don't think about how they walk together. They just do it."

"Real couples also probably practiced being couples gradually over time, instead of cramming twenty years of friendship into romantic mode in one weekend,” I point out.

"Fair enough.” Adam surveys my apartment with the expression of someone reassessing a challenging architectural project. "Maybe we need a bigger practice space."

"This is all the space I have,” I say wondering where he expects to find more space.

"I know. I just meant..." He trails off, apparently thinking better of whatever he was about to suggest.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's not important" he sighs.

"Adam."

"I was just going to say we could practice at my place, but then I remembered what happened only yesterday.”

His place is spacious, well-appointed, decorated with the kind of careful attention that comes from having both good taste and unlimited budget. Everything about it screams comfortable wealth in ways that always make me slightly self-conscious about my own circumstances.