Page 92 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

Richard checks his watch. “We should let you boys relax. But Nate...” He hesitates, then pulls something from his pocket. It’s an old photo, creased at the corners. It’s me as a teenager, sitting behind my first real drum set—the one he bought me. “I thought you might want this.”

I take it carefully, something tight squeezing in my chest. “You kept this?”

“We kept everything,” my mother says softly, hugging me again. This time, I don’t hesitate to hug her back. When she pulls away, her eyes are bright. “Dinner tomorrow? Before you leave town?”

“Yeah,” I say, surprising myself with how much I want that. “I’d like that.”

After they leave, Lacey wraps her arms around my waist. “So proud of you,” she murmurs into my chest.

I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in because I feel proud—not just of the show but of taking this step, of letting people in.

Also, I finally understand that sometimes the bravest thing you can do is forgive, and it’s also the first step toward healing.

Twenty-Eight

Lacey

Seattle’s signature rain taps against the windows, but I’m warm and content, curled into Nate’s side. Reality starts creeping in as I check the time on my phone—my flight back to L.A. leaves tomorrow afternoon. One more day. One more night.

“Why are you frowning?” Nate mumbles, pulling me closer.

“I’m trying to figure out what to do with our last day together.” I prop myself up on one elbow. “What do normal couples do in Seattle?”

He cracks open one eye. “Normal couples, again?”

“Yes. You know, touristy stuff. The Space Needle, Pike Place Market...” I scroll through my phone.

“Ooh, we could hike Mount Rainier!”

His groan reverberates through his chest. “You want me to exercise on my day off willingly?”

“Come on,” I poke his ribs, “where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I get plenty of adventure on stage. Besides,” his hand slides up my bare back, “I can think of much better ways to spend our last day together.”

I catch his wandering hand, though my body hums at his touch. “Nate Stone, are you trying to keep me in bed all day?”

“Is it working?” His sleepy grin is almost irresistible. Almost.

“Nice try.” I sit up, keeping the sheet tucked around me. “But we’re in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I want memories that don’t involve hotel room walls.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Last night’s memories weren’t enough?”

Heat floods my cheeks as fragments from our post-dinner activities flash through my mind. The way he’d...

“What I mean is,” I clear my throat, “when I’m back in L.A. tomorrow, buried in movie scenes and scripts, I want to remember doing something uniquely Seattle with you.”

Something shifts in his expression at the mention of tomorrow. The playfulness fades, replaced by something more intense.

“Fine,” he sighs deeply, giving in, but I catch the smile tugging at his lips. “Space Needle it is. But I draw the line at hiking.”

“Deal.” I lean down to kiss him quickly, but he catches me, deepening the kiss until I’m practically melting against him.

“Though,” he murmurs against my lips, “we don’t have to leave right this second...”

An hour later, we finally make it out of bed. While Nate showers, I check my messages: another one from Blaire asking about Nate and bridesmaid dresses (seriously?), and one from Nancy thanking us for dinner.

I smile, remembering how Nate’s eyes lit up when his mother shared stories about his first drum set and how he’d actually laughed—really laughed—when Richard described teenage Nate’s attempts to arm wrestle him.

---