Page 23 of Knot Happening

"Much better," I admit, surprised by how the small adjustment changes the entire dynamic between us. "Though this is definitely going to take some getting used to."

"The hand-holding or the whole fake relationship thing?"

"Both. All of it. The idea that we're going to walk into the most exclusive social event in the region and convince everyone that we're madly in love when we've never even kissed."

"Do you think we'll need to kiss?" Adam asks, apparently following the same train of thought.

"Probably not. I mean, how much public affection do couples usually display at formal events?"

"I have no idea. I've never been to a formal event as part of a couple."

"Neither have I."

We stand there for a moment, still holding hands, both contemplating the kissing question that neither of us seems ready to address directly.

"We'll cross that bridge if we come to it," I finally say.

"Right. Bridge-crossing. Very practical."

"Are you having second thoughts?" I ask, suddenly worried that I've pushed Adam into something he's not actually comfortable with.

"No," Adam says immediately. "No, I think this is actually brilliant. Complicated and potentially disastrous, but brilliant."

"Potentially disastrous how?"

"Well, what happens after the ball? Do we pretend to break up? Do we tell people it was fake the whole time? Do we just... go back to being friends and hope no one asks uncomfortable questions?"

I don't have good answers for any of them. I've been so focused on getting through the ball itself that I haven't thought about the aftermath.

"We'll figure it out," I say with determination I'm not sure I feel. "One crisis at a time."

"That's your solution to everything, isn't it? Figure it out as you go,”

Adam says.

“It's worked so far."

"Has it, though?" Adam asks gently. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've been figuring things out alone for a long time. Maybe it's okay to have help sometimes."

His words hit deeper than they should, touching on truths I've been avoiding about my tendency to handle everything independently. Since my parents died, I've prided myself on self-sufficiency, on not needing anyone else to manage my life or solve my problems.

But standing here in the empty library, holding hands with my best friend while planning to fake a romantic relationship, I'm forced to acknowledge that maybe some problems are easier to handle with help.

"You're right," I admit. "I do try to handle everything alone. I'm not very good at accepting help."

"I know. But I'm offering anyway. For the ball, for whatever comes after, for whatever you need."

The sincerity in his voice makes my chest tight with emotions I can't identify. This is why Adam means so much to me—not just because he's my friend, but because he sees me clearly and offers support without making me feel weak for needing it.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"Don't thank me yet. Wait until we see if we can actually pull this off without completely embarrassing ourselves."

"Speaking of which," I say, stepping back slightly but keeping hold of his hand, "we probably need to coordinate our story. How long have we been 'dating'? How did our relationship change from friendship to romance? What are our future plans?"

"Good point. And we should probably practice some more basic couple behaviors. Dancing, for instance."

"Dancing?" The word comes out higher than I intended.

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