Page 107 of Faking It For Real

Confused but intrigued, I followed him back into the now-quiet restaurant. The dinner rush had ended, leaving only a few patrons scattered among the booths. Ethan led me to a specific table in the back corner—the exact spot where we'd negotiated our fake relationship that fateful night months ago.

"This feels familiar," I observed as we slid into opposite sides of the booth.

"It should." Ethan smiled, a nervous quality to his expression I rarely saw these days. "This is where it all began, right? Our business arrangement?"

"Over pancakes at midnight," I confirmed, remembering. "I was so desperate for thatSports Illustrationsconnection, and you were so desperate to keep Vanessa away."

"Not my proudest moment," Ethan admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "But it worked out okay in the end, wouldn't you say?"

"Better than okay," I agreed softly.

A server approached, and to my surprise, delivered two plates of pancakes and coffee without us ordering.

"You planned this," I realized, looking between the familiar midnight breakfast and Ethan's increasingly nervous expression.

"I might have called ahead." He fidgeted with his napkin, an uncharacteristic tell. "Do you remember the terms of our original agreement? The clauses we established right here in this booth?"

I cast my mind back to that night. "Let's see... The relationship would be strictly professional. No real feelings involved. Clear expiration date at the end of hockey season."

"Exactly." Ethan reached across the table, taking both my hands in his. "We failed spectacularly at all three conditions."

"True," I laughed. "The least successful contract in history."

"So I've been thinking..." He took a deep breath. "Maybe we need a new agreement. One with completely opposite terms."

My heart stuttered. "What kind of terms?"

"Completely personal, not professional. All real feelings, all the time. And no expiration date whatsoever." His eyes held mine, vulnerable and hopeful. "A permanent arrangement, you might say."

Before I could respond, he slid out of the booth and, to my absolute shock, dropped to one knee beside the table. The few remaining diners fell silent, all eyes turning toward us.

"Mia," Ethan began, voice steady despite the emotion evident in his eyes. "I came into your life as a script, a performance, a business deal. But you saw through all that to who I really am, and somehow loved me anyway." He reached into his pocket, producing a small velvet box. Inside was a stunning engagement ring—a simple but elegant design that perfectly matched my taste. "There's no pretending this time. Just us, for real, forever. Will you marry me?"

Time seemed suspended as I stared at the ring, then at Ethan's face—the face I'd photographed countless times, in victory and defeat, in public performance and private vulnerability. The face I'd somehow come to love beyond all reason or expectation.

"Yes," I whispered, then louder, "Yes, absolutely yes."

Ethan's smile was blinding as he slipped the ring onto my finger, then pulled me into a kiss that left no doubt about the authenticity of our feelings. The small crowd of diners erupted into applause, several filming the moment on their phones.

As we broke apart, I noticed a familiar figure in the corner, lowering a professional camera. "Olivia?" I gasped. "You knew about this?"

My best friend emerged from her hiding spot, camera in hand. "Who do you think Ethan recruited to document the moment? He knows you well enough to realize you'd want this milestone captured." She hugged me fiercely. "Congratulations, both of you."

Dylan appeared beside her, slinging an arm around Ethan's shoulders. "About time, Captain. I was starting to think you'd chicken out."

"You knew too?" I demanded.

"I had to tell someone I was planning to propose," Ethan defended. "And Dylan has proven surprisingly good at keeping secrets."

"Only because I threatened him with divorce if he spoiled the surprise," Olivia clarified with a smug smile.

After accepting congratulations from friends and even a few strangers, Ethan and I finally escaped the celebratory chaos of the diner.

As we drove away from campus into the evening, I lifted my camera one last time, capturing the setting sun over the university skyline through the car window. The resulting image was slightly blurred, imperfect but beautiful—much like the unpredictable journey of falling in love when you least expect it.

I glanced at the engagement ring catching the fading light on my finger, then at Ethan's profile as he drove, his expression peaceful and content. The camera charm he'd given me last year rested against my throat, a constant reminder of how he saw me.

"What are you thinking about?" Ethan asked, catching my contemplative gaze.

"Just that some arrangements turn out better than originally planned," I replied, reaching for his hand.

His answering smile was everything real and nothing performed—the truest image I'd ever captured, not with my camera but with my heart.

"Much better," he agreed, lifting my hand to press a kiss against my palm. "This is one contract I intend to keep forever."

I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was no performance, no business arrangement, no temporary solution to our individual problems. This was the real thing—unscripted, unexpected, and more beautiful than anything I could have photographed or he could have planned.

This was love, pure and simple. And it was ours.

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