Page 43

“Sorry.” I exhale slowly. “Long day at practice.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Yes. No. I want to talk about how much I hate pretending. How greeting her at the airport feels right in a way I can’t explain. How suddenly our fake engagement timeline is starting to feel both too long and not long enough.
Instead, I say, “Nothing to talk about. Just tired.”
She nods, and we fall back into silence. But this time, it’s heavy with all the things we’re not saying, all the lines we’re not crossing.
As we pull into my driveway, she gives me a small smile. “Thanks for picking me up.”
The slight tension from the airport ride dissipates as soon as we cross the threshold. Lacey kicks off her shoes with a contented sigh, padding across the hardwood floors like she belongs here.
“God, it’s good to be back,” she says, and something warm unfurls in my chest at her words. “Mind if I unpack my suitcase first?”
“Make yourself at home.” I mean it more than I should.
While she’s upstairs, I order from a Thai place I like—she let it slip in a text that she loves Thai food.
When she comes back down, I have to remind myself not to stare. But it’s not just about attraction—though there’s plenty of that. It’s about how right she looks in my space, curled up on my couch with her feet tucked under her.
“Food’s on the way,” I tell her, settling into the adjacent armchair. “Thai Palace.”
Her face lights up. “You remembered.”
“Hard to forget when you raved about loving Pad Thai for three days texting.”
She throws a throw pillow at me, laughing. “Pad Thai is my favorite!”
The sound of her laughter fills the room, and I feel the last of the day’s tension melt away.
“Tell me about the new movie,” I say, genuinely interested. “How was filming?”
She launches into the story, animated and passionate, and I find myself leaning forward, drawn in by her enthusiasm. This is the real Lacey—the one who talks with her hands when she’s excited.
“It’s amazing. Though I wish I had a more complex character. You know, a princess with a dark past.” She leans forward, her eyes lighting up. “So different from my actual goody-two-shoes role the studio’s pushing. God, and working with Leo...” She rolls her eyes. “Let’s just say he’s living up to his diva reputation.”
“That bad?”
“Yesterday, he demanded we reset an entire scene because the lighting wasn’t capturing his essence.” She makes air quotes, nose wrinkling. “I’d kill for a role with actual substance. Something gritty, you know? If the company would let me pursue it.”
The food arrives, and we migrate to the kitchen. She hops onto the counter while I plate everything, and I try not to notice how her legs dangle and how the movement makes her shirt ride upslightly. When she steals food from my plate, her fingers brush mine, sending electricity dancing up my arm.
“Yeah, you probably make a terrible princess,” I tease, trying to distract myself from how her smile lights up the room. “Too much sass.”
She throws a napkin at me. “Hey, that’s why they hired me, because I can do sweet and innocent!” Her attempt at a demure expression lasts about two seconds before she’s laughing again.
We end up on the deck after dinner, the ocean breeze carrying away the Florida heat. Lacey’s curled up on one of the loungers, nursing a glass of wine, while I grab my bongos.
The rhythm flows easily from my hands, and I watch as she sways to it, her body moving in ways that make my throat tight. The wine has left a slight flush on her cheeks, and when she tilts her head back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, my rhythm falters for just a beat.
She closes her eyes, and I’m struck by how natural this feels. The percussion, the ocean, Lacey moving to my rhythm—it all blends into something that feels surprisingly good.
“I missed this place,” she admits, eyes still closed. “Being here. It’s like... everything else falls away.”
I know exactly what she means. Out there, we’re always performing—the rising star, the rockstar. But here? Here, we’re just us.
“Yeah,” I agree quietly, “I love it here.”