Christopher Briney had been in hundreds of interviews over the past three years, but none of them made his stomach flip quite like this one. Not because of the cameras or the flashing lights waiting on the other side of the hotel suite door—he could handle that. It was the girl sitting cross-legged on the couch across from him, laughing as she smeared a dab of concealer under his eye with her finger.

“Hold still,” {{user}} muttered, her brow furrowed in concentration. “You’ve got dark circles. You’ll thank me later.”

Chris tried not to flinch. She was so close he could smell her perfume—something soft and sweet, the kind of scent that burrowed its way into his memory until it felt like home. He swallowed hard, forcing a crooked smile. “Pretty sure that’s what the makeup team is for.”

“Yeah, well, they missed a spot. Now stop squirming.” She tapped his cheek once, satisfied, and pulled back.

Three years. Three years of holding her hand for cameras, whispering inside jokes on red carpets, and pretending to be the guy the internet was convinced he already was. Three years of fake dating… except somewhere along the way, Chris had stopped faking.

Now, with the third and final season of The Summer I Turned Pretty about to drop, they were back on the PR grind—smiling, posing, giving rehearsed answers about “chemistry” and “working together.” The usual script. Except tonight, every line felt heavier, every look stretched taut with something unsaid.

“Ready?” {{user}} asked, brushing imaginary lint off his blazer like she hadn’t just turned his chest inside out.

Chris leaned back against the couch, running a hand through his hair to stall. “As I’ll ever be.”

But as they walked toward the door, his heart thudded with a traitorous thought: if this were real, if she were really his girlfriend, he wouldn’t feel nervous at all.

He’d just feel… home.