She winces. “Right.” Then, after a beat, “So what’s the plan?”
Ronnie’s grin widens. “Public lunch. The diner. Let people see you. Get ahead of the story.”
“No,” I say automatically.
“Yes,” Ronnie counters, looking at Lyla. “It’s the perfect move. Sit by the window, share a plate of fries, make eyes at each other. Boom. The whole town buys it.”
She takes a sip of her coffee, clearly fighting a smile. “I mean… It’s not a terrible idea. If we want this to work, we have to sell it.”
I glare at both of them. “I agreed to the fake dating thing so you could land your deal, not so I could star in some small-town romcom.”
“You also agreed to make it believable,” she says, and her tone is sharper now, more deliberate. “This would make it believable.”
Ronnie shrugs. “Unless youdohave something to hide.”
That lands like a gauntlet between us. Lyla holds my gaze, daring me to refuse.
And maybe it’s pride, or maybe it’s the fact that backing down would make it look like I’m ashamed of her, but I hear myself say, “Fine. Lunch. But we’re in and out. No lingering.”
“Whatever you say,” she answers, her smile saying she’s already won.
The diner sits on the corner of Main and Harbor, its big front windows gleaming in the late morning sun. It’s been here longer than either of us, the kind of place where people pick a booth and keep it for twenty years.
The bell over the door jingles when we walk in, and I swear the sound makes every head turn. Conversations dip, the sizzle of the griddle in the back suddenly too loud.
Lyla’s hand brushes mine as we step inside, whether on purpose or just because the aisle’s narrow. I keep my expression neutral, but my pulse ticks up anyway.
“Morning, Damien. Lyla,” Nancy from behind the counter calls, her smile bright but just shy of nosy. “Just the two of you today?”
“Yes,” Lyla says before I can answer, her voice smooth.
Nancy gives a knowing nod and grabs two menus, leading us to a booth by the front window exactly where Ronnie said we should. From here, we’re visible to everyone insideandeveryone walking past outside.
Perfect.
I slide into my side of the booth, stretching my legs out. Lyla sits opposite, setting her coffee down and tugging at her sleeve like she’s reminding herself not to fidget.
Across the diner, old Mr. Jensen squints over his paper at us. At the counter, two women in fleece vests are pretending not to watch, whispering behind their mugs.
Lyla leans in slightly. “You’d think they’ve never seen two people have lunch before.”
“They haven’t seenushave lunch before,” I mutter.
Her mouth curves, and there’s that glint in her eye, the one that tells me she’s enjoying this way more than she should.
When Nancy comes back for our order, Lyla doesn’t even look at me before saying, “We’ll split the burger basket.”
I arch a brow. “We will?”
She just gives me that same glint and hands her menu back to Nancy.
Nancy drops off our drinks, and the sound of ceramic mugs hitting the table makes a few heads swivel again.
Lyla wraps both hands around her mug, smiling just enough to make it look like I’ve said something worth smiling about. “So,” she says, her tone light for the crowd’s benefit, “how’s your morning been?”
I narrow my eyes at her across the rim of my coffee. “You’ve been here the whole time. You tell me.”
She shrugs, takes a slow sip, whispering, “I don’t know… maybe I’m trying to set the scene. You could play along, you know.”
