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22

ELLA

It’s midnight, but maybe Jack is a night owl … or he can’t sleep either.

I creep out of the guest room. The television is dark. Only the twinkling city lights beyond the big windows illuminate the living space along with Jack’s silhouette.

I sit down on the couch. Bark Wahlburger lets out a little sigh as if wondering what took me so long.

The sound of popcorn crunching abruptly stops. “Midnight snack?”

Jack holds out the bowl for me. I help myself to a handful.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks.

I nod. “Why couldn’t you?”

“I’ve been ignoring Carlos’s texts and thinking.”

“I take it he’s still pushing the fake dating idea.”

“He’s ringing the wedding bells. Mostly, I think that’s because nothing would make him happier than saying ‘I do’ to Marisol. Ten to one it doesn’t happen. Then again, the guy is persistent.”

“My dad used to say you can’t lose if you keep playing. ”

Jack’s expression turns thoughtful as if he’s contemplating the meaning of winning and losing.

He turns to me, eyes sparking. “I think you should come to Nebraska with me.”

I notice he doesn’t say that he wants me to, this must be part of his plan to salvage his career. I ask, “To wear your jersey?”

“And be my fiancée.”

I nearly inhale a piece of popcorn. His metal water bottle sits on the table and I take a long sip.

Clearing my throat, I say, “That escalated quickly. No dating first? You want to completely bypass the girlfriend-boyfriend courtship?”

“I did ask you to be my girlfriend earlier and we’ve already kissed, so it’s not a huge leap.”

“You may be Jack the Flash, but I’m not fast. Also, don’t forget, there’s my job. I took a couple of days off, but I have to be back.”

“I can take care of that,” he says as if practiced in making problems disappear.

I know all too well that nothing in life is that easy. “What happened to the no catch clause?”

“This is an addendum to the original non-existent contract.” He tosses a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

What I’d give for my life to be so easy. The night we snuck into the pool makes more sense. He wasn’t ever going to get in trouble. His safety doesn’t have holes. The suggestion that we be someone else that night comes to mind.

Exhaling through my nose, I say, “Little did I know I was actually auditioning for the Jack Bouchelle Show.”

“The Ella and Jack Show.” He pulls out his phone, showing me house listings in a suburb of Omaha called Cobbiton.

“Cobbiton like corn or like the Shire?” I ask vaguely .

“Both.”

“Wait, do you get that reference?”

“Why the air of surprise? I’ve read all three works by J.R.R. Tolkien and The Silmarillion . You know, for reference purposes.”

My smile must look slightly deranged.

“Impressed?”

“That’s commitment.”

“I can be when it matters.” The words slip past me and I tell myself not to be a fool. Not to fall.

We get nerdy about The Lord of the Rings trilogy for a few minutes.

I say, “It was my dad’s favorite. He’d reread it every year.”

“As one should.”

My smile grows because this guy surprises me in the best of ways.

He shows me homes that are much grander than hobbit holes. I chuckle at one property description’s final sentence, Cobbiton embraces the small-town spirit with big hockey brawn and more corn than you can shake a cob at. Another calls it Hockey Town and highlights easy access to the Ice Palace arena.

“Is the ink even dry on the contract with the Knights?” I ask.

“It feels like a sure thing.” His gaze lolls over mine like it’s a foregone conclusion.

My internal warning flags flutter in the breeze. I should decline, delete, go back to the island. “But you need a fake fiancée to seal the deal?”

Jack pivots so he’s facing me and holding eye contact, says, “When it comes to me, you don’t have to protect yourself. I won’t hurt you. Trust me. ”

I want to. I do. But never mind my safety net having holes, it’s in a dumpster somewhere.

As if I already agreed, he smiles and says, “What do you think of Hockey Town?”

“Obviously, I’ve never been. Oh, wait. That’s where Leah lives.”

“Let’s play house.”

“No one would believe I’m your fiancée.”

“What if I don’t care what anyone believes?” he says in a slow way that highlights his subtle southern accent.

“Your reputation is with women who are the opposite of this.” I gesture to myself in all my messy hair in a knot on top of my head and holey sweatpants’ed glory.

His lips screw up to the side. “Maybe I like what I see.”

“Don’t tease me. I’m fully aware that I’m not like the other girls you’ve dated. I’m unknown or whatever.”

“None of them were my fiancée.”

Does that mean that he didn’t like any of them enough to slide a ring on their finger? Does that mean I’m different? More like a world apart from him.

“Jack, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re you and I’m me. In movies, the whole opposites attract thing works in a cute, quirky way. But this is real life where Jack Bouchelle hooks up with tall, buxom, gorgeous vixens.”

He tips his head back with laughter.

My lip pops out with a pout.

“Ella. Oh, Ella. You don’t see what I see.”

“Short.”

“Five six? Seven?”

“Curvy.”

“Perfect.”

“Awkward.”

“Adorable. ”

“Jack Bouchelle doesn’t date adorable.”

“Beautiful.” The back of his hand skims the side of my face, sending shivers across my skin.

“Now that we’re done arguing about whether I’m insanely attracted to you, can’t stop thinking about kissing you twenty-three and a half out of the twenty-four hours a day, and want you to be my fiancée, will you do it?”

“What do you think about the other thirty minutes?”

“Hockey.”

Before I can voice another objection, Jack shows me a house with a stone hearth that’s the size of the wall.

I stuff a handful of popcorn in my mouth. I must be dreaming. I accidentally bite down on a kernel and wince. Nope. The pain is real. I’m awake.

“I’m having déjà vu. Before, you said there was no fine print. I wore the jersey. Then I was your fake girlfriend for a minute. Now I’m sitting on your couch in the middle of the night, eating popcorn and looking at houses you could buy. If you recall, I don’t even own a bed.”

“Which makes this perfect. It solves two problems.”

“Jack, I’m not a problem,” I say softly.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s just that it’ll look good for my team and help you?—”

“I’m not a charity case.”

He shakes his head rapidly. “Ella, if I thought about you that way, I would’ve given you a plate with a steak on it.”

I tuck my chin. “What?”

“Never mind. It’s just that I think this could work.”

Heart flutters and flustered fluffy bunnies fight over the puck in my chest. “I have to think about it.”

“I’ll court you and everything,” he says with a laugh.

“How do modern hockey players woo women?” I ask, my emphasis pointed, given what I overheard about his reputation .

He sets the popcorn bowl aside and nibbles his lower lip, eyes heavy and flirty. “Let me show you.”

His splayed fingers cradle my jaw and he stares deeply into my eyes. For a moment, I’m lost in a dream, in a fairytale. Then his lips land on mine, soft and warm, minty and masculine.

My palms press to his sides, slide around his back, and try to find a place to land, but the butterflies in my stomach go from fluttering to frolicking.

My thoughts race almost as quickly as my heartbeat. The lines blur between poor housekeeper, fake girlfriend, and something more.

Jack’s fingers weave through my hair, drawing me closer. The movement encourages me to send the kiss deeper, and I lock my hands around the nape of his neck. He gives back fully, completely. Together, we move toward a connection I’ve never felt with a man.

Then my uncertainty fades completely and it’s just the two of us—his lips pressed to mine, our hearts thundering, our inhales short, and our desire intensifying.

When we finally part, I gaze into his eyes—blue and bold, sparkling in a way that makes me believe he wants me.

But what’s next between us?

Turns out, another kiss.

I wish I could say I sleep soundly after Jack’s proposal and wake up refreshed and rational. Instead, as the faintest threads of dawn rise from the horizon, I wake up nuzzled against him on the couch. I rub my eyes and a popcorn kernel nearly falls into my mouth. I sincerely hope it wasn’t stuck to my face. My legs tangle in his and his arm holds me close.

After talking for hours, we must’ve dozed off.

My head swirls with the kisses we shared, his request that I pose as his fiancée, and potentially moving to Nebraska. Could I find a job there that would cover Dad’s care?

He breathes softly beside me, his expression placid. Even though staying in this little dream bubble would be bliss, I remind myself that I already made the mistake of falling for a billionaire once. No need for a repeat dating disaster.

Not wanting to disturb Jack or subject him to my bedhead, er, couch head—is that a thing?—I carefully uncurl myself from around him. I lift his arm—it’s heavy!—and not so gracefully slide onto the floor with the rest of the popcorn.

Jack’s spare bedroom really feels like a hotel with bland contemporary decor.

I miss having a home and wonder if he ever really has—the kind with family photos on the wall, knickknacks and mementos from camping trips to little towns, and the evidence of human life and the messes it entails. A place to cook and bake, to leave out a pile of laundry to fold, a stack of things collecting in that one place that seems to magnetize odds and ends. It’s not that Jack’s condo is sterile, it’s just not lived in.

Then again, he’s not here often with his hockey traveling schedule. Leah mentioned it because her brother goes where Jack goes. She works at a pub in Cobbiton and takes off as much time as she can in her quest for a great hockey romance of her own.

After a long shower—it might be my last regular one for a while if I return to Jewel Island—I lie on the bed and drift to sleep, only to wake up again at a less absurdly early hour.

When I finally leave my room, not even a pillow askew on the couch or a piece of popcorn reveals that we were here last night. I wonder if a housekeeper already did her rounds. It’s almost ten a.m., so it’s certainly possible .

“The other half really do live differently,” I whisper as I wander around the condo, not sure which closed door is Jack’s.

When I get back to the kitchen to see if the coffee maker actually has a plug or if it’s a prop in a showroom, a key sounds in the lock, startling me. Once more, I feel like I’ve snuck into a suite where I shouldn’t be.

Only, it’s Jack in fitness gear and thoroughly saturated with sweat. He lets go of Bark Wahlburger’s leash and the dog rushes to his water bowl.

Jack sets down two paper cups and a white pastry bag. “Good morning. You’re awake. How’d you sleep? Well, I hope. I got us some coffee and muffins. Not sure what you like—” His words are one long bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ramble.

“You’re an early bird, I take it.”

He smirks and kicks off his sneakers. Ah, so he’s human, too. Good to know.

“Took Bark Wahlburger to let loose some energy on a run, figured you might be hungry, stopped at a bakery down the road, but, uh, then I raced back, sloshing the coffee everywhere so I had to drink some.” He seems strangely nervous as if he was afraid that when he woke up or got back, I’d be gone. But Jack is swagger incarnate. I can’t imagine anything making him even slightly on edge.

I say, “I’m not a caffeine fiend. Plus, I could’ve made some.”

“I don’t even know if there are mugs.”

“The housekeeper keeps the bathroom well stocked. I’m sure the kitchen is, too.”

“I thought you might’ve left,” he blurts then abruptly searches the cabinets for a plate for the muffins. When he turns around, relief lights his eyes as if assured by the fact that I didn’t vanish.

Or maybe that’s just my imagination.

“Where would I go?” I ask .

Bracing my arms, he says, “To Cobbiton with me.”

I meant where would I go from here, right now, but he’s already thinking down the road. I don’t have much of a life to go back to and was essentially homeless. The promise of Prince Charming—at least temporarily—is alluring. When my fiancée visa expires, I can pick back up again and maybe get an apartment or a room with someone.

Nibbling my lip, I ask, “What would being your fiancée entail?”

“This.” He gestures to our breakfast.

“And wearing your jersey to games.”

“Also that. Um, public appearances. You know, doing life together.”

“The only problem is I spend every available moment earning money to pay my father’s medical bills.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He sets out some napkins.

My shoulders sag. “You can’t just throw money at everything.”

Tipping his head from side to side, he says, “Actually, I can.”

“What if someone found out?”

“They won’t.”

“I don’t feel good about lying to people about our status for money.”

He speaks robotically when he says, “The Knights want commitment. I have to go all in. You’re in a tight spot financially. I’ll support you. It’s a win-win.”

Jack’s gaze holds mine for a long moment. There’s sincerity there and playfulness, too, as his lips quirk. My thoughts collide like two guys on the ice—one in red and one in white. One encourages me to have fun and the other cautions me to be careful.

I take a sip of coffee, instantly feeling alert. I was living a fake five-star life at the resort, so it’s not a great leap to be his fake wife-to-be. It’s not like I have anything else to lose.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

His smile grows and his shoulders visibly relax. “Good, because we leave tomorrow. But tonight, we have dinner with my father where we’ll make the announcement.”

I swallow thickly because I thought meeting Allain Bouchelle was a one-off event. Even though I’ve had a lot of practice handling entitled rich people, if anyone would see through us, it would be his father.