Page 25 of Faking It For Real

I'd come straight from my photography lab, my hair still smelling faintly of darkroom chemicals despite my quick bathroom freshen-up. My camera bag sat beside me, heavy with equipment I'd been using for my latest assignment.

"Coffee?" A server appeared, coffeepot in hand, looking as tired as I felt.

"Yes, please," I said gratefully. "The largest size you have."

She filled a mug the size of a soup bowl and placed it before me. "Anything else to start?"

"I'm waiting for someone, actually," I replied, glancing toward the door.

As if on cue, it swung open, and Ethan walked in. He'd changed since the gym, now wearing jeans and a navy blue sweater that made his eyes look even bluer than I remembered. His hair was still damp, presumably from a shower.

The server followed my gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Your friend's here," she said, a knowing tone in her voice that I chose to ignore.

Ethan spotted me and made his way over, sliding into the booth across from me. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Coach called right as I was leaving."

"It's fine," I said, wrapping my hands around my coffee mug. "I just got here myself."

The server reappeared. "Coffee for you too, hon?"

"Please," Ethan nodded. "And can we see menus?"

Once we were settled with coffee and menus, an awkward silence fell. This was the first time we'd voluntarily sought each other's company, with no friends as buffers and no immediate crisis to address. I took a sip of coffee, using the mug to hide my uncertainty.

"So," Ethan finally said, "this fake relationship."

"Right." I set down my coffee. "We should establish parameters."

"That sounds very scientific," he said, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"I think it should be," I replied, pulling a small notebook from my bag. "Clear expectations. Defined boundaries. Scheduled end date."

"You brought notes?"

"I like to be prepared."

Ethan leaned back, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Of course you do."

Before I could decide if that was a compliment or a criticism, the server returned for our orders.

"Chocolate chip pancakes, please," I said. "With extra whipped cream."

"At midnight?" Ethan asked, eyebrows raised.

"Problem?"

"Not at all. Make that two orders," he told the server, who scribbled on her pad and disappeared.

"Pancakes at midnight," I observed. "We already have something in common."

"Terrifying," he deadpanned, then smiled to show he was joking. "So, these parameters. What are you thinking?"

I flipped open my notebook. "Term length: from now until the end of hockey season. That's approximately four months."

"Agreed," he nodded. "Until the final game, whenever that might be."

"Hopefully the championship," I said, surprising myself with the sentiment.

Ethan looked equally surprised. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

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