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I gave him a wry look as I walked up the steps. “And I see you’ve found another reason to break out the hose. Don’t you ever get tired of washing that thing?”
He flashed me a grin. “Are you kidding? This beauty’s my pride and joy - gotta keep her looking good.”
As he sprayed the hood, little rivulets catching the fading sunlight, I was struck by how at ease he was - so comfortable in his own skin. Meanwhile, I was still getting used to the idea that we were supposedly engaged. That thought instantly drained the humor from our banter, replacing it with the awkwardness of two actors who’ve forgotten their lines.
I fumbled with the bags, grasping for something to say. “Well, I should probably get inside and start prepping dinner...”
Dylan’s smile faded, seeming to pick up on the shift in mood. “Oh, yeah, sure thing. Have a good night, Avery.”
“You too,” I mumbled, escaping into the house. I leaned back against the closed door and sighed, cursing myself. I had asked too much of him, I realized. This whole fake engagement idea was ridiculous - what had I been thinking? Dylan would surely back out now. I’d made a huge mistake.
My spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of my phone. Fishing it from my pocket, I saw Zoe’s face lighting up the screen. Taking a deep breath, I swiped to answer.
“Hey, you!” came her bubbly voice. “Just wanted to check in after our chat. How are things?”
I winced, moving to the kitchen to unpack groceries. “Oh, you know, same old. Just working on some new pieces for the art festival coming up.”
“Oooh, exciting!” she said. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve been cooking up in your studio. Oh, by the way, I meant to ask - how did that thing with your parents go? Have they backed off about the job stuff?”
I froze, a bottle of wine hovering over the counter. Here it was, the moment of truth. I could spill everything now, admit it had all been a ruse, that Dylan and I weren’t engaged.
But something held me back. It was too late now...wasn’t it?
“Avery? You still there?”
I cleared my throat, willing my voice to sound casual. “Yeah, sorry, just trying to wrangle groceries. Anyway, about my parents...”
I took a breath; the fiction flowing easily to my lips. “I talked to them and got them to give me a bit more time to focus on my art. I told them I’ve been seeing someone seriously here in Pebble Point.”
“What?!” Zoe shrieked. “Oh my god, Avery, that’s huge! Who is he? How long have you been dating?”
I winced, cursing her journalistic skills. “It’s, uh, pretty new still. I’ll tell you all about it soon, I promise. But I should run - gotta start prepping dinner.”
“Fine, fine, you’re off the hook for now,” Zoe relented. “But expect a full interrogation next time I see you! Have fun with your mystery man!”
I forced a laugh as I ended the call, my heart pounding. What was I doing? The lies were piling up, and now Zoe was invested, too. With a groan, I dropped my head into my hands. I had made a huge mistake - it would be impossible to back out without humiliating myself.
With a sigh, I focused on preparing dinner - I’d have to figure out the rest later. My mind spun tales as I chopped and stirred, dreaming up ever more elaborate fiction. If only this creative energy could be channeled into my art instead of fabricating a fake engagement. But the choice had been made - for now, imagination would have to serve an entirely different muse.
***
I cradled my plate of pasta and clasped my glass of Merlot, ready to wash away the day’s awkwardness with Dylan, when a flicker of movement caught my eye. Curiosity piqued, I edged to the window and peered outside, spotting Dylan as he carried bags of groceries up to old Mrs. Peterson’s steps.
We all affectionately termed her Mrs. P, the neighborhood gem in her late 80s, forever spoiling us with homemade cookies and tales of Pebble Point’s yesteryear. Her health had waned lately; just last week, I’d seen the EMTs attend her house, but thankfully, just for a blood pressure scare.
I observed Dylan and realized he must have seen her burdened with shopping bags and stepped up. He hauled them inside while she propped the door, her face lit with a thank-you smile. This display of genuine helpfulness was a side of Dylan I’d never seen—no bravado or showing off, just pure kindness.
He stepped out shortly, offered Mrs. P a comforting shoulder pat, and ambled back, oblivious to my stealthy gaze. My dinner waited unattended as I mulled over this Dylan I’d written off as a shallow charmer. The person who’d so readily played along withmy far-fetched engagement ruse was showing layers I hadn’t anticipated.
In the eleven months since settling in here, my world had turned inward—paintings, aspirations, and the fight against a life designated by parental decree. Understanding settled like dusk over the ocean; Dylan was more than a convenient pawn. He had chapters to his story, thoughts I’d not yet canvassed. With a sip of my wine, I watched Twilight embrace the waves, allowing my view of Dylan to alter, uncovering a curious new depth to explore.
I settled into the window seat with my wineglass, watching the dusky colors swirl and blend outside. The evening light cast a pensive glow across my studio as my thoughts danced to their own rhythm.
This morning, I’d awakened so sure of my strategy—I’d signed up Dylan as my bogus fiancé to bamboozle my parents into granting me artistic freedom in Pebble Point. Sounded solid...on paper. Yet seeing Dylan’s sincerity tonight as he helped Mrs. P seed questions. Was he more than just a prop in my ploy? Behind the flirty banter and firefighter bravado, did a depth exist that I’d overlooked in my haste?
I sipped my Merlot, emotions and doubts churning. My stupidly selfish stance about Dylan’s superficiality seemed less certain now. He’d happily plunged into this ruse on my whim, understanding my desperation to avoid the life mandated back in San Francisco. I’d never paused to ponder Dylan’s story or what simmered beneath the casual charm. Watching him tonight revealed a compassion I hadn’t expected. And those layers left me disquieted, unsure of my hasty assumptions.
Outside, the dusk surrendered to nightfall’s embrace. Inside, disquiet took hold as admiration tangled with confusion. Could there be truth woven into our fabricated feelings? Had my request unknowingly entangled Dylan’s heart in my hopes andfears? The questions swirled as relentlessly as the tides beyond my window. I could only sip my wine and ponder as the evening shadows merged into night, mirroring the dimming certainty of all I thought I knew.
