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"Partly," he nodded. "We'd need to convince people our relationship is genuine, which requires some foundation of mutual regard. We don't have to fake that part."

I returned to the contract, reviewing the clauses that governed our behavior.

One in particular caught my attention —neither party could become romantically involved with others during the arrangement.

The stipulation made practical sense; public dating would undermine our story.

Still, the idea of a year without romantic possibilities gave me pause.

I hadn't dated much since opening Hat Trick , but the deliberate foreclosing of that option felt significant.

"The no-dating clause," I said, tapping the page. "That's a long time."

"We can adjust that if it's a deal-breaker," Caleb offered. "Though it would complicate the narrative if either of us were seen with other people."

"No, it makes sense," I conceded. "I'm just..." I gestured vaguely. "Processing."

Diane returned, sensing we'd reached a decision point. "Well? Are we moving forward?"

I took a deep breath and picked up the pen she'd placed beside the contract. "We are."

As I signed my name on the dotted line, I experienced a surreal blend of emotions—anxiety about the deception we were undertaking, relief at the financial salvation the arrangement offered, and a strange, unexpected flutter of excitement about the year ahead.

Diane efficiently signed as witness and gathered the papers. "I'll file these and begin the necessary arrangements. We'll need to move quickly. How soon can you move in?"

"I'll need a few days to pack and explain the situation to Zoe," I said, still trying to absorb the reality of what I'd just agreed to.

"Perfect," Diane nodded. "Meanwhile, we'll need to establish your relationship timeline. You met at your restaurant, which has the benefit of being true. A whirlwind romance, culminating in a proposal last week. We'll arrange a small, private ceremony—nothing that screams publicity stunt."

As Diane continued outlining our fabricated love story, I caught Caleb watching me with an unreadable expression. When our eyes met, he offered a small, reassuring smile that surprisingly did ease some of my tension.

"We should probably get to know each other better," he suggested after Diane left with her copy of our contract. "If we're going to convince people we fell madly in love."

"Probably," I agreed. "Twenty questions?"

"Why not?" He grabbed two waters from the refrigerator—a top-of-the-line model that made me irrationally jealous—and settled beside me on the couch. "Favorite color?"

"Starting with the hard-hitting questions, I see," I teased. "Blue. Yours?"

"Green," he replied. "But not any green—forest green."

"Specific," I noted. "Favorite food?"

"My mom's Swedish meatballs," he answered without hesitation. "Family recipe passed down for generations. Yours?"

"Two things come to mind," I told him. "Bánh mì, for one. And my dad's postgame chili. He made it after every home game, win or lose. Said it was the only way to restore balance."

"Siblings?"

"Just my younger brother Danny—he's finishing his senior year playing hockey at Boston College. You?"

“I have one sister, Megan,” Caleb replied.

I hesitated. “So, you’re not telling your parents this is just an arrangement?”

He shook his head. "My father would be pissed off about deceiving others. And my mother would be heartbroken when we eventually get divorced."

"I'm not telling my family either," I confirmed. "They'd never approve, especially my dad. He's big on integrity."

Caleb nodded with a smile.

The conversation flowed naturally as we exchanged favorite movies, music preferences (he surprised me with his love of classic jazz), and embarrassing childhood stories.

By the time I checked my watch, three hours had passed, and I'd learned enough about Caleb Matthews to convince me that, arrangement aside, he was someone I genuinely enjoyed talking to.

"I should go," I said reluctantly. "I need to start packing, and Zoe's probably wondering if you've locked me in a dungeon."

"No dungeons," Caleb assured me with a grin. "Though I do have a gym in the building that might qualify based on the pain it causes."

As he walked me to the elevator, he suddenly seemed uncertain. "So we're really doing this?"

"Apparently so," I confirmed, feeling equally amazed at the turn my life had taken. "I just agreed to marry a man I met a week ago for money. My culinary school classmates are living in Paris and New York, and I'm entering a contract marriage with a hockey player to save my failing restaurant."

"When you put it that way, it sounds like a bad movie plot," Caleb laughed.

"Or a good one, depending on the ending," I replied, surprising myself with the optimism in my voice.

As the elevator doors closed between us, I leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. I'd just made the most practical business decision of my career by agreeing to the most impractical personal arrangement imaginable. Yet somehow, I felt more hopeful than I had in months.