Page 31 of Faking It For Real

"I'll meet you at the main entrance," I said, then added, "Wear something warm. It's supposed to be cold."

She gave me an amused look. "Are you concerned about my well-being, Wright?"

"Just being practical," I replied. "Can't have my fake girlfriend getting pneumonia. Bad for both our plans."

"Your concern is noted," she said, her smile still fixed. But then it vanished. "Have you seen Vanessa since Halloween?"

"Thankfully, no," I replied. "But she texted twice. I gave vague responses."

"Good. We don't want to tip our hand too early." She glanced at her watch. "I should get going. I have class in fifteen minutes."

"I'll walk you," I offered.

"You don't have to do that," she said, looking surprised.

"Isn't that what a good boyfriend would do?" I raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose he would," she conceded, gathering her camera bag. "Though I should warn you, it's clear across campus."

"I could use the exercise," I said, despite having done my morning workout.

As we walked, I found myself noticing things about Mia I hadn't before. The constellation of freckles across her nose and cheeks. The way she gestured with her hands when explaining a particularly complex photography concept. The slight crinkle at the corners of her eyes when she smiled reluctantly at my terrible attempt at a photography joke.

"What do you call a deer with no eyes?" I asked.

"I don't know, what?"

"No eye deer." I grinned. "Get it? No idea?"

She groaned, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. "That's terrible."

"I've got more," I warned.

"Please, no," she laughed.

When we reached her classroom building, she turned to face me. "So, Saturday. One-thirty at the Harvest Festival entrance."

"I'll be there," I confirmed.

"And don't forget to add me on social media," she added. "If we're dating, we should be connected online."

"Will do," I promised. "See you Saturday, Mia."

She gave a small wave before disappearing into the building, leaving me with the strange realization that I was actually looking forward to our fake date.

Back at my apartment that evening, I found myself searching for Mia on social media. Her profile was public, filled with an eclectic mix of photographs: artistic shots of campus architecture, candid moments with a girl I recognized as Olivia, and what appeared to be family gatherings—a large, close-knit group with Mia's same warm brown eyes and expressive gestures.

I followed her, then scrolled further into her feed, feeling oddly intrusive yet unable to stop. There was something compelling about seeing life through her lens—the way she captured light, the unusual angles, the moments of quiet beauty in ordinary settings.

A notification popped up:Mia has followed you back.

I clicked to her profile again and saw she'd added a new story—a simple shot of her camera beside a coffee cup, caption reading: "Late night editing session. Sometimes the best shots aren't the ones you expect." Was that a reference to us? Or just a general photography observation?

My phone buzzed with a text.

Mia:I realized we should probably know some basic things about each other if we're going to pull this off. Here's my list of essential info. Feel free to add anything I missed.

The message was followed by a surprisingly comprehensive list: her full name (Mia Navarro), birthday (March 12), hometown (Philadelphia), family details (parents Elena and Gabriel, younger siblings Miguel and Sophia), favorite foods (anything with cheese, spicy Thai, her mom's enchiladas), allergies (penicillin, cheap metal jewelry), and even her coffee order (large latte with an extra shot, almond milk if they have it).

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