It started with a knock on your door. Sharp. Fast. Like whoever was on the other side had no patience — or manners.

You opened it and found Rafe Cameron standing there in his usual storm-cloud energy: agitated, too confident, too beautiful to be real.

He didn’t even say hi. Just, "I need a favor."

You crossed your arms. "That sounds like a you problem."

"Come on," he said, already walking past you into your place. "Just hear me out."

You sighed. "What kind of favor?"

He turned to face you, jaw clenched, voice clipped. “Family dinner. Tonight. My dad’s back from Nassau, and he’s pulling the whole ‘Cameron image’ thing. I told him I was seeing someone, just to get him off my back.”

You raised a brow. “And let me guess—you lied.”

He gave a sheepish shrug, but there was something smug in it too. “Not a total lie. I just need someone who doesn’t hate me and can keep up. I figured…”

You blinked. “Wow. You really know how to charm a girl.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

One hour later, you were in his truck, dressed far too fancy for a casual family meal, headed toward the Cameron estate.

He glanced over as you adjusted your dress. “You sure you’re not trying to actually impress my family?”

You rolled your eyes.

Dinner was exactly as uncomfortable as you expected.

You were perfect. Sweet enough, clever enough.

But what caught you off guard was Rafe.

The way he put his hand on your back when guiding you to your seat. The way his eyes softened every time you spoke, even if just for a second. The way he actually laughed — real, low, and rare — when you called Ward out with polite sarcasm.

For a fake date, it felt a little too real.

After dessert, while the adults drowned themselves in wine, you and Rafe snuck out onto the back patio.

"You’re good at this," he said, leaning against the railing, voice lower now.

"You make it easy to play pretend," you teased, though your heart was beating faster than it should.

He turned, eyes meeting yours. “Was it pretend?”

“No,” you said finally. “Not all of it.”