Occasionally, I notice people glancing our way, whispering behind their hands. It’s strange being on display like this, being watched, but I remind myself firmly that’s the whole point. This is what we’re here for, after all. To look like a couple. To be seen.
“I think our debut is going pretty well,” Jack says after a while, his voice low enough that only I can hear him. “Several people have taken photos, and those young women in the corner keep looking over here.”
I glance in their direction as subtly as possible, trying not to be obvious about it. Sure enough, a group of what looks like college-aged girls are huddled together, phones occasionally lifting in our general direction. One of them waves enthusiastically when she catches Jack’s eye, and he smiles back politely, making the entire table erupt into whispered exclamations and excited squealing.
“You never get tired of that, do you?” I ask, watching the effect his simple acknowledgment has on them. Their entire day probably just got made.
He shrugs, taking a final sip of his espresso. “It’s a mixed bag, honestly. The enthusiasm is flattering, sure, but sometimes I can’t even stop for gas without someone asking for a selfie.”
“Must be strange, being recognized everywhere.”
“You get used to it,” he says, setting his cup down. “Besides, isn’t that what you’re signing up for? With the music career, this whole arrangement? Fame, recognition, all of it?”
“I guess,” I say, considering it. “Though I’d like to be known for my actual music, not primarily for who I’m dating.”
“The way the industry works now, sometimes you need the second thing to get people to notice the first,” he says. “But once they’re actually listening, your talent will keep them around.”
“I hope you’re right.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He glances back at me. “I am. If someone like me, who’s fucked up as many times as I have, can make it to Formula One, you can definitely become a successful musician. You’ve always had that thing.”
“What thing?”
“That spark. That drive. Even back in high school, you had this intensity about you.” He shrugs. “Like you were meant for something bigger than Dark River.”
I blink at him, surprised he noticed anything about me back then when we barely crossed paths.
A loud burst of laughter from the teenagers’ table draws our attention again.
“We should probably get going,” Jack says, checking his watch. “Leave them wanting more, right?”
I nod, mentally batting away the warmth that bloomed at his words.
We stand, and Jack moves toward the door ahead of me. When we reach it, he holds it open, gesturing for me to go first. As I pass him, he places his hand lightly at the small of my back, guiding me through. It’s brief but I feel it like a current through my whole body.
Outside, the afternoon sun hits us hard after the air-conditioned comfort of the coffee shop. Jack walks beside me toward my car, his hand dropping back to his side.
“First fake date successfully completed,” he says, stopping when we reach my car. “Not bad for a pair of complete amateurs.”
“Speak for yourself,” I say, fishing my keys from my purse. “I was extremely convincing. Oscar-worthy.”
“You were,” he agrees, leaning casually against my car. “Though next time, maybe try to look a little more besotted.”
“I’ll work on my adoring gazes,” I promise dryly. “Should I practice in the mirror? Take a class?”
“If it helps,” he says, that signature smirk appearing. “Though I find it works best to think of something that actually makes you happy.”
“I’ll think about my last Spotify royalty check,” I deadpan. “I think it was six dollars and eleven cents.”
He laughs. “Whatever works. Just sell it like you mean it.”
“I should go,” I say, motioning toward my car door.
“I’ll text you about Seattle,” he says. “It’s this weekend. Black tie, very fancy, lots of photographers. Think you can handle it?”
“I think I can manage to look like I belong on your arm for one night,” I reply, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“I know you can,” he says.
