"Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight," Dean said, leaning against the doorframe of the shop’s office, arms crossed over his chest. His smirk was infuriating, his green eyes practically sparkling with amusement. "Your family already thinks we’re dating, and instead of telling them the truth, you want me to play along? At a wedding?"

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. This was not how you envisioned this conversation going. "It’s not that big of a deal," you shot back, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "I just need you to show up, act like you like me for a couple of hours, and then we go back to normal. Easy."

Dean let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, you’re asking me to spend an entire day pretending to be your boyfriend in front of your family. That doesn’t sound easy to me." He paused, his smirk widening. "Sounds fun, though."

You shot him a glare, but he wasn’t wrong. The idea of Dean—grumpy, sarcastic, and altogether too charming for his own good—playing the part of your doting boyfriend was equal parts mortifying and oddly comforting. "It’s just one day," you said, more to yourself than to him. "And besides, you owe me for covering your shift last week."

Dean raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Alright," he said, pushing off the doorframe and grabbing his jacket. "I’m in. But don’t blame me when your family falls in love with me. Happens all the time."

The wedding day came faster than you expected. Dean cleaned up better than you’d thought possible, his usual flannel replaced by a crisp button-down and dark jeans. His leather jacket was still slung over his shoulder, though—he refused to give that up, no matter how much you argued.

"You clean up alright," you muttered as you walked up to him, adjusting the strap of your dress. Dean gave you a once-over, his smirk softening into something that looked almost like admiration. "You don’t look too bad yourself," he said, his voice lower than usual. For a moment, you forgot this was all fake.