Chapter 199

I stomped outside the ranch porch like I was about to start a revolution. The sun was dropping, painting the Texas sky in streaks of orange and pink, but I didn’t care about the view. I was still laughing—okay, fine, snorting—about “Begone, demon!”

And of course, because my life was cursed, Nathaniel followed me out. The door creaked behind me, then clicked shut, and suddenly it was just me and him in the warm, dusty evening air.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he asked, leaning against the porch rail like he was posing for a damn cowboy magazine cover. His arms crossed, his grin lazy. “Couldn’t stop laughing at the snake story.”

I whipped around, glaring. “Funny? Nathaniel, you screamed like a cartoon character and called it a demon. I will laugh about that for the rest of my natural life.”

His grin widened. “Glad I could make you smile, darling.”

I groaned. “I swear, Lisbon, one of these days I’m going to slap that smug look right off your face.”

He pushed off the rail and took a few slow steps toward me. “Come on, darling—don’t be so cruel.”

“Don’t darling me,” I snapped, pointing at him like I was commanding a dog. “I am your pretend girlfriend. Pretend.Nothing else.”

He tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching upward like he knew something I didn’t. “Then how about we make it real?”

I blinked, my heart instantly tripping over itself. “…Ha! Real? Do I look like I have time for your jokes?”

His expression didn’t falter. If anything, his eyes narrowed in that infuriating, focused way that made my chest tighten. “I’m not joking, Aya.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms so he wouldn’t see my trembling hands. “Please. I’m not like those women you dated. Models, celebrities, actresses, all those perfectly polished creatures who belong on magazine covers. I don’t have time to be another notch on your belt.”

He stepped closer, close enough that the smell of his cologne—warm, musky, a little dangerous—wrapped around me like a trap. His voice dropped low, almost a growl.

“You really think that’s all I see you as? A notch?”

I swallowed hard, suddenly wishing I’d stayed inside with the cousins’ ridiculous questions instead of walking into this.

He smirked again, but softer this time, more like a secret than a performance. “Maybe you don’t get it yet. But I don’t want another polished model, Aya. I want the stubborn, sassy chef who laughs at me like no one else dares to.”

My brain screamed: Danger, danger, danger. My mouth, however, betrayed me with the weakest comeback ever. “Well… good luck, because she’s not interested.”

“Mm-hm,” he murmured, stepping back finally, his grin returning full force. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

And just like that, he left me standing there on the porch, blushing so hard I thought I’d combust, while he walked back inside like he hadn’t just casually tried to melt my brain.

I swear, I hated him. I hated his smugness, his charm, the way he leaned in just a little too close.

And I hated most of all that some traitorous part of me didn’t hate it at all.

The second I closed my bedroom door, I collapsed face-first into the pillow like I was trying to suffocate myself.

“PRETEND. PRETEND. PRETEND,” I groaned into the fabric, kicking my legs like some deranged teenager. My cheeks were burning so hot I was certain the pillowcase was now permanently roasted.

Who did he think he was, sauntering out there on the porch, leaning against the railing like a damn cowboy hero out of a romance novel? And then—then—dropping the “make it real” line like it was nothing?

I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling, my hair a mess, my arms flailing like I was conducting an orchestra of insanity. “Make it real?” I muttered. “Ha! Real, he says. I’m not like those women he dates. I’m not some model with glossy hair who looks good sipping champagne in a designer dress. I’m… I’m me. And he’s—he’s him.”

Cue groan, round two.

I buried my face again, muffling the scream that clawed its way out of my chest. “PRETEND!” I said louder this time, as if maybe if I repeated it enough, my heart would actually listen. Because my heart, the traitor, was still hammering in my ribcage like it wanted me to march right back outside and test out that almost-kiss thing we had going.

“No, Aya,” I told myself, sitting up and wagging a finger at the empty room. “We are professionals. We are strong. We are NOT swooning over a smug firefighter who thinks pet names are a personality.”

A beat of silence.

And then my brain, unhelpfully: But did you see the way his eyes softened? Like he meant it? Like maybe…

“NOPE.” I threw my pillow across the room, missing the chair completely. “Nope, nope, nope. We are not doing this. Absolutely not. I refuse to be one of those rom-com idiots who fall for the man they’re supposed to fake date. I am too smart, too sassy, too—”

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I froze. My soul left my body. Because who else could it be but him?

I picked it up, and sure enough—Nathaniel Lisbon.

I screamed into my blanket, muffling it so the whole ranch didn’t hear me. “WHY, GOD, WHY?!”

When I finally dared to peek, the message was short. Just two words.

Sleep tight, darling.

I dropped the phone like it had personally betrayed me. Then I buried myself under the covers, muttering to the dark.

“Pretend. Pretend. Pretend.”

But my stupid, blushing cheeks told a different story.