ONLY AN APRON

The bar was almost empty.

Christmas lights blinked along the walls, their red, green, and gold reflections barely lighting the room. There were no customers, no music, and almost no movement. It was so quiet that Henry Silva's voice carried easily across the room.

“And this is how you make a real Brazilian caipirinha.”

Henry stood behind the bar, facing a ring light and a smartphone. He wore jeans and an apron tied around his waist, with nothing underneath. His muscular chest was still damp with sweat from filming, and his dark hair was slightly messy.

The drink he'd just made sat on the counter.

Fresh lime. Ice. Cachaça.

Henry picked up the glass and held it toward the camera.

“Simple. Perfect.”

Arthur stood behind the phone, recording the last few seconds.

“That's a wrap,” he said.

Henry lowered the glass and took a sip.

“Finally.”

I barely noticed any of it.

Mandy and I were sitting at a table near the entrance, both still wearing our coats. I'd been staring at the table for several minutes, trying to convince myself that going home for Christmas wasn't a terrible idea.

My mother had called.

My father had been sick.

And somehow, despite everything that had happened the year before, I'd agreed to go back.

But there was one problem.

I didn't want to walk into that house alone.

Not when Ian would be there.

Not when Ruby would be there.

Not when everyone would probably look at me with that same mix of pity and curiosity.

I sighed and finally looked up.

And stopped.

My eyes landed on the man behind the bar.

For a moment, I just stared.

He was ridiculously handsome.

Broad shoulders. Strong arms. A defined jaw. Dark hair. And an easy confidence that made it obvious he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on people.

I quickly looked away.

Then, despite myself, I looked back.

Mandy noticed.

Of course she did.

“Girl,” Mandy whispered, glancing around the nearly empty bar, “this place is a ghost town.”

I didn't answer.

My attention was still on Henry.

Mandy followed my gaze.

Then she looked back at me with a slow, knowing smile.

“Oh.”

I finally turned toward her.

“I need to show up with someone.”

Mandy raised an eyebrow.

“Someone?”

“Anyone.”

Mandy looked at Henry again.

Her smile grew wider.

“Well, then go talk to your hot bartender.”

I frowned.

“He's a bartender?”

“Apparently.”

Mandy nodded toward him.

“And he's literally for hire.”

Before I could respond, Mandy gave me a little shove.

I stumbled to my feet.

“Mandy!”

“Go.”

I took a deep breath and started walking toward the bar.

With every step, I got more nervous.

What was I doing?

I didn't even know this man.

I couldn't just walk up to a stranger and ask him to pretend to be my boyfriend.

Except...

I was already doing exactly that.

When I reached the bar, Henry lowered his glass.

Arthur was still holding the phone, finishing the recording.

Henry looked at me.

His eyes slowly traveled over me before returning to my face.

A faint smirk appeared.

I suddenly forgot every word I'd planned to say.

“Hi,” I managed.

Then I cleared my throat.

“Uh... hey.”

Henry waited.

I swallowed.

“I need to ask you something.”

One eyebrow lifted.

“Okay.”

I took another breath.

There was no turning back now.

“How much would you charge to be my fake boyfriend?”