Page 7

CHAPTER 7

ANNA

S itting with Ollie, I feel the full weight of his words. He said yes. His voice had been steady, calm even, but the word seemed to hang between us like a lit match, waiting for something to ignite.

“Can I get a glass of water?” I ask, my mouth suddenly extremely dry. Sahara dry.

Ollie doesn’t respond; instead, he hops up and grabs a glass from a cupboard in the kitchen and fills it for me in no time flat. He hands it to me as he settles back into his seat.

A fake relationship. Pretending to be in love with my best friend.

My heart treats me to a funny stutter, and I pray it isn’t obvious. Ollie leans back now, arms crossed, watching me with that patient expression that only makes it harder to breathe. How could he look so unaffected when I feel like I’m balancing on the edge of a cliff, now with my father and Ollie’s futures tied to my next move.

I reach for my glass, needing something to do with my hands, but the moment my fingers wrap around it, I realize they’re trembling. Which they would be when I’m about to put a plan into motion that could change at least one relationship as I know it. I let go quickly and straighten my shoulders, dragging my eyes back over to meet Ollie’s. “If we’re going to do this, we need rules.”

“Rules?” Ollie raises an eyebrow, a slow grin pulling at his lips. Of course he finds this amusing.

“I know it sounds corny, but I actually like to read books with the fake dating trope.”

Ollie blinks twice. “What?”

“A trope. It’s a recurring theme, like in a book.”

He laughs. “I know what a trope is, but let’s rewind to this laying down rules thing.”

“Not so much that they’re rules, per se. Guidelines. Boundaries. So no one gets hurt.”

His smile falters, and something softer flickers in his expression. “Anna, I’m not going to hurt you.”

A tiny chunk of ice inside me melts when he speaks. I know what he means, who he’s referring to, and why. The ex. Jason.

Ollie was around for the Jason days. They’re not my best ones on record. Jason is this good looking guy whose outsides do not match his insides, not one bit. He came across as the kind of young gentleman you’d be proud to bring home and introduce (or show off) to your family and friends. He comes from a prominent family, studied to be a lawyer, and liked playing touch football on the weekend with his old college buddies. But once the honeymoon days, the ones in the very beginning of dating, wore off––well, that was when I realized he also had a crappy habit of being simply rude, condescending, and a straight up butthole to basically everyone.

Ollie was lucky enough to be around for those six months that I dated Jason, so he saw more than he probably wants to ever admit. Like the day Jason took a tip back from a server because he didn’t get his coffee ‘at temperature’. I’ll never forget the look on Ollie’s face as we watched Jason reach over the counter, put his hand into a tip jar where I had just slid a five dollar bill, and he took it back out. Who does that?

I mean, our time together went down in the history books in River City considering I broke up with him, while he was screaming at me that I don’t pay attention to him when he talks, in the middle of the River City Saturday Market. This is the same guy who would insist I borrow random things from him––from power drills to a Brita water filter, a knitted blanket from his nana or a sewing machine (I’m still not sure why a sewing machine)––he’d send me home with the strangest items in my hands. I’m pretty sure it was just so he had a touch point, or a reason to call me again the next day. You know, to stay in touch and feel a small molecule of what he thought was control.

Let’s just say I walked away that day, and from that time of my life, with PTSD when it comes to relationships and guys named Jason.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “I know you wouldn’t want to. But you’re right that things could blow up.” I gesture vaguely between us. “This is dangerous, Ollie. We’re messing with something important. And I—” My voice catches, but I push through. “I can’t lose you because of this. Not you.”

His eyes soften, and for a moment, I think he might reach across the table, but he stays put. “You won’t,” he says quietly.

I nod, even though I’m not entirely convinced. “Rule one: No kissing unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

His grin returns, full force this time. “Define necessary.”

I roll my eyes, though my cheeks betray me with a flush of heat. “You know what I mean. Public events. Photographers. The kind of moments that sell the illusion.”

He chuckles, leaning forward. “Got it. No unnecessary kissing. What else?”

“Rule two,” I say, fighting to stay on task, “we need to stay friendly and focused, keeping our dating lives out of this. No asking about crushes or...you know, things that aren’t part of the show.”

I’m throwing this rule in there mostly for me. Being friends, we’ve seen each other’s dating lives flourish or stall over the years, so in my opinion, if we’re gonna do this fake thing, we don’t need the distraction or the confusion of outside parties. Look, I’m not dating anyone and again, Ollie knows my exes, so I don’t care, but it’s about respect, you know?

Ollie gives a slow nod. “Okay. No digging into each other’s current love lives. Fair. How about rule three is hand-holding with some kisses on the cheek?”

The laughter in his eyes almost makes me crumble, but I stay strong. Even as my gaze drops to Ollie’s lips—which happen to be a kissable bright red and looking smooth and perfect today—I keep it together.

“Sure, rule three can be some light hand-holding with occasional on-the-cheek kisses. And rule four…” I hesitate, feeling the weight of this one settle in my chest. “We stop if it starts to feel like too much. For either of us.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just studies me with those sharp, blue-gray eyes of his. Then he leans back again, his expression serious now. “Deal. But, Anna…”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I think we should add one more rule.”

“Which is?”

He pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor before returning to mine. “We promise to be honest with each other. About everything. No pretending when it’s just us. If we’re going to pull this off, we need to trust each other completely.”

The knot in my chest loosens slightly, and I manage a small smile. “I can agree to that.”

“Good.” He holds out his hand, and for a split second, mine dangles in the air. If there was ever a time to stop this, it’s now. Once we agree, there is no going back. This is it. The beginning of something that could either save my dad or leave Ollie, me, and my father in pieces.

Taking a breath, I place my hand in his, ignoring the spark that snakes its way up my arm. “Deal.”

Ollie’s hand lingers in mine for a moment longer than necessary, the warmth of his palm making it hard to ignore the very real risk we’re taking. When he finally lets go, I curl my fingers into a fist in my lap, like I’m able to hold onto the steadiness his touch had given me.

The sound of soft jazz crackles in the background, spilling from an old record player perched on a low table across the room. I hadn’t noticed it until now, but the low hum of the saxophone fills the quiet between us, giving the room an almost intimate glow.

“What’s playing?” I ask, tilting my head toward the music.

Ollie glances over his shoulder, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Miles Davis. Kind of Blue. Classic.”

I nod, letting the smooth notes wash over me. “It’s nice. Didn’t peg you for a jazz guy, though.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He leans back in his chair again. “Mom gave it to me a few weeks ago when she left town.”

“Parting gift?” I tease.

“Something like that,” he says, rolling his eyes.

That earns him a smirk, but before I fire back, he clears his throat and shifts the conversation back to business. “Speaking of surprises...I’m out of here soon for a few away games. Should we, I don’t know, come out as a couple before I leave? Make it official for anyone who’s paying attention?”

I blink, processing his question. He’s not wrong—if we’re going to sell this, we need to make it believable from the start. No awkward fumbling or rushed explanations when someone inevitably notices us appearing together all the time, like a rash.

“Yeah.” I nod slowly as the plan begins to form in my head. “We should.”

His eyebrow arches, and I catch a hint of curiosity behind his cool exterior. “How?”

“Here’s what I’m thinking.” I exhale and lean forward. “Tomorrow, we’ll start small—maybe you post a photo of us on social media. Something casual, but enough to get people talking. I’ll drop a few hints, too, if anyone asks.”

He gives a small nod, his focus locked on me as I continue.

“Then, at the game this week here at home, we’ll ‘sneak out’ a back entrance holding hands…I’ll ask Sutton or Lara to make sure they tell the photographers to be there so we’re caught.”

He grins. “It’s like you’ve been thinking about this for some time now.”

“It’s amazing the deal with the devil you can be willing to take if someone you love is in trouble.” I pause for a moment on the word love , quickly tweaking my sentence. “And I love my dad.”

Ollie nods. “I get it. Sorry.”

“I just want this to be smooth.” I sit back again, staring into space and drumming my fingers on my thigh. “When you’re back from your away games, we’ll make sure to go out. As much as is reasonable. Somewhere public, but not too obvious. Just enough to let people put two and two together. Maybe grab coffee or lunch.”

“Subtle.” His lips curve into a faint smile at my rambling. “I like it.”

“Good,” I say as I straighten up, feeling a bit more confident now that we have a plan. “And then there’s the mayor’s ball in a few weeks. That should be the pinnacle.”

“Why, are you going to pretend you’re Cinderella and run away from me?” he teases.

“Won’t work because I’m not the kind of girl who leaves evidence behind,” I manage with a straight face while Ollie laughs. “By then we’ll have had a few weeks of our believable friends-to-more romance to have played out for the local press and fans. Photos, sneaky social media posts, the whole nine yards. By then, you should be well on your way to being the golden boy of River City and Jimmy will have no choice but to leave you alone.”

“And after that?” he asks, his voice softer now.

I inhale sharply, my gaze flicking to the record player as Miles Davis hits another smooth, mournful note. “After that, we can call it quits. Break up.” The words taste bitter, but I push through. Why should they? Since we’re a couple of buddies helping each other out, that part should be the easiest when it comes time. “We’ll make it look like it just didn’t work out. No hard feelings, no drama. We go back to normal.”

His eyes search mine for a long moment, and I can’t quite read the expression there. “You make it sound so simple.”

I force a smile, hoping it masks the unease twisting in my stomach. “It should be.”

Ollie doesn’t say anything right away, but the subtle tension in his jaw tells me he isn’t as convinced as I’m pretending to be. The jazz record crackles again, filling the silence, and I find myself clinging to the sound like a lifeline.

“This is really the best way to help your dad, isn’t it?” he asks finally.

“It is,” I say, my voice quieter now. “Plus, we take the pressure off of you.”

Ollie nods, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, mirroring my posture. “Then we’ll make it work.”

The conviction in his voice settles something inside me, and for the first time all night, while discussing this murky topic, I allow myself a small, genuine smile. “Thanks, Ollie.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but the look in his eyes says otherwise. In fact, there is something about the way he looks at me now that makes it hard for me to divert my attention from him. Like there’s more he wants to say, but he’s not. With all of this talk and focus around fake-dating, it could also be in my head.

Miles Davis carries us through the quiet again, and I find myself wondering—not for the first time—if playing with fire might actually be worth the risk.

The sound of the front door opening makes us both jump.

“I’m back,” Dixon shouts, a little too loudly. “Is it safe?”

“In the living room,” Ollie calls out as he closes his eyes. “Living with women is so much easier. Some days, I miss having three sisters around.”

“They didn’t bother you?” I ask as I check the time on my watch.

“Of course, but they were a little quieter and a lot neater,” he says before Dixon enters the room.

“I know you’re talking about me.” Dixon points at Ollie as I stand to go.

“I need to get back to the hospital so I can hang with Dad a little more.” I look at Ollie as I walk toward the front entrance. “Walk me out?”

Ollie pushes up from the couch, his movements unhurried but purposeful. “Of course.”

Dixon raises a hand in mock surrender. “Don’t mind me.”

“We won’t,” Ollie says over his shoulder, earning a muffled groan from Dixon as we step into the hallway.

The cool air from outside seeps in as I pull the front door open, and for a moment, I hesitate on the threshold. Ollie stops a step behind me, his presence steady and grounding. There’s the softest touch on both of my shoulders as he stops me.

“Wait a sec,” he mumbles as he turns me around. I spin in a circle and find him holding his phone. “I’ll take a quick selfie of us.”

“Would that be considered an us-ie?” I lamely attempt a joke, but Ollie doesn’t let me down when he chuckles at the corniness.

“Technically, yes.” He stands directly behind me and pulls my back so it’s firmly against his chest. His very hard chest, which kind of surprises me…I mean, of course Ollie grew up. We’re both adults now, but Ollie…has a hard chest?

He angles his head so it’s on the other side of mine, almost looking like conjoined twins with his chin resting on my shoulder. One of his arms is stretched out in front of us, hoisting his phone in the air.

“Our first pic as the newest River City power couple.” His other hand sneaks around my waist, sending a thrill through my system I was not expecting as he pulls me in even tighter.

The shiver rushing across my skin is as thick and real as breathing itself. As his breath hits my cheek, something is waking up inside of me, and while I want to blame it on not having any lunch, I’m pretty sure that the fine line I’m walking with Ollie is about to get clouded over. The way my body is reacting is like nothing I’ve felt before with him, and it’s adding a layer of confusion that this already insane day doesn’t need.

He hits a countdown timer and then presses his cheek so it’s against mine, and I let my eyes slide to the side in an attempt to see what he’s doing.

“Smile,” he says as a series of flashes go off, taking several pics of us at once. When they stop, he drops his arm and steps away. The cold of the night air once again rushing in to greet me.

“I’m going to talk to Sutton tomorrow,” I say, my voice firmer than I expect as I try to shake off whatever emotional response this is. “I’ll let her know what we’ve agreed to do.”

His brows lift slightly, a flicker of approval flashing across his face. “Thanks, Anna, for telling me everything. It couldn’t have been easy to come here and tell me not only about your dad, but also about what you heard them say about me.”

The words shouldn’t hold as much weight as they do, but they linger in the space between us, filling the silence with something unspoken. I’m not sure what to do, so I do what feels natural: reach out and take his hand and squeeze it.

“Thanks for listening,” I manage, fighting back unseen tears. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I step onto the porch, the night wrapping around me like a familiar, restless friend, and I take a deep breath, my fingers brushing against the cool metal of the railing as I descend the steps. There’s a shift in the air, like something just out of reach is waiting, watching, ready to tip one way or the other.

As I walk toward my car, I turn around only to find Ollie still standing in place on the porch, watching me. This is when I feel it—I can feel hope and uncertainty intertwining in my chest. Whatever this is, whatever we are, it feels like standing on the edge of something that is steeper than I originally thought. Like an iceberg, where you can only see the tip so things look safe, but what you don’t know is that the true beast is all underneath the surface and you need to go easy. If I look at it this way, we’re either gonna sink…or we’re gonna swim.

And I’m not sure which outcome scares me more.