contractually yours

“Holy—” Layla gasped, skidding to a stop in front of the counter. Her latte splashed onto the wooden floor, a dripping puddle that matched the mess her life felt like. She tugged down the brim of her faded baseball cap and tried to tamp down her racing heart. Of all mornings to run into Derek, why today?

Derek Lane stood two feet away, perfectly composed in a crisp navy coat and a tailored scarf. His dark hair was swept back just so; his boots were polished. He looked like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine, not like the guy who had broken her heart three months ago with an offhand “we’re just not compatible.” He held his cup of cappuccino as if it were a peace offering—or a judgment.

Layla’s cheeks flamed. She wiped at the coffee stain on her sweatshirt—only smearing it. She was a wreck in every sense: unwashed hair tucked under that cap, mismatched socks poking out from scuffed sneakers. She hadn’t even bothered with makeup. Just mascara. Bad decision. Now it clumped below one eye like a raccoon’s tear. She could feel every eye in the café turning to watch her meltdown. She tried to straighten her shoulders, but her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst.

“Layla?” Derek called softly, surprised. “I—are you okay?”

Her throat tightened. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Panic bloomed in her chest. The barista cleared his throat, ready to clean up the mess. The line behind her shifted forward. She had to do something—anything—before she turned entirely crimson. There was no graceful way out. She couldn’t face him like this. Not after the ugly breakup. Not while he looked like a GQ model and she resembled a sleep-deprived squirrel.

There was no time to think. She needed cover. Backup. Anything to make this less humiliating.

In that heartbeat of pure desperation, she turned around—and saw him. A guy stood just behind her in line, holding a black travel mug. He wore a faded denim jacket, earbuds dangling around his neck, and had a quiet kind of confidence in the way he scrolled his phone with one thumb. His eyes flicked up as she took a step closer.

Layla didn’t hesitate. With the smoothness of someone in a soap opera, she grabbed his arm and slid her hand into his as if it belonged there.

“There you are, babe,” she said, her voice an octave too high.

The stranger blinked, but instead of pulling away, he slid his hand around her waist. He squeezed gently, a silent show of solidarity. His voice was smooth, amused. “Hey, babe.”

“Derek,” Layla said brightly, pulling the stranger closer, “this is my boyfriend. Ethan.”

Derek lifted an eyebrow so high Layla thought it might fly right off his face. “Boyfriend?”

The stranger, bless his soul, didn’t pull away. In fact, he smiled—crooked and amused. “Hey, man,” He said casually, slipping his arm around Layla’s waist like it belonged there. “Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you.”

Layla fought not to groan. He sounded too cool, too collected. She expected confusion—or anger. Instead, he had folded into her panic and made it his own performance.

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” Derek said, gaze flicking between them.

“Yeah,” Layla said, grasping at her thread of cover story. “We’ve been together for a few weeks. Moving on.”

Derek’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I see.” He raised his chin. “Well, take care, both of you.” He turned on his heel and walked toward the door, giving the barista a nod.

Once the door shut behind him, Layla exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She released Ethan’s arm. “Oh my God. I am so, so sorry.”

The stranger chuckled. “So...what was that?”

“I’m so sorry,” Layla said quickly, cheeks burning. “That was insane. I don’t even know your name and I just... kidnapped your arm.”

Ethan shrugged—his posture casual, his smile still lingering. “It’s fine. You needed a cover story.”

She fought for composure. “I grabbed you out of nowhere. You didn’t even know me.”

He laughed again, and it was warm, like a fire crackling in a quiet room. “Ex trouble?”

“Big time. I looked like a disaster and he looked like a damn magazine cover. I panicked.”

“Well,” He said, shrugging, “you sold it. Ten out of ten. Honestly, I’m flattered.”

She groaned. “God, I’m so embarrassed.”

“You shouldn’t be.” He tilted his head. “But if it makes you feel better, I totally get it. Pretending to be someone’s boyfriend is kind of fun. And it’s kind of nice being someone’s hero before 10 a.m.”

Layla laughed for the first time that day, a real laugh that surprised even her. “You’re not too weirded out by this?

He shrugged. “I’ve had worse mornings.”

Layla smiled, a little despite herself. “Well, thanks for going along with it.”

“Anytime,” Ethan said with a shrug.

She bit her lip, then offered her hand. “I’m Layla, by the way.”

“Ethan,” he replied, shaking it firmly. “Nice to meet you.”

They stood awkwardly in the busy café, the line inching forward behind them. At last, Ethan whispered, “Come on—let’s get that coffee spill cleaned up.”

He took a paper towel from the counter and knelt to blot the spilled latte. Layla knelt beside him, shocked by how natural it felt. Derek was gone. For a moment, it was just the two of them, heads bent over a coffee stain.

“Thanks,” Layla said, her voice low. “I really owe you.”

Ethan stood, tossing the soggy towel in the trash. He patted his pockets. “Well, a favor deserves another. Want me to walk you outside? We can preserve the illusion.”

She laughed. “Sure. Why not?”

They exited together, the cold wind tugging at her hoodie. Layla wrapped her arms around herself as Ethan held the door.

Outside, she turned to him. “Seriously, I owe you one.”

He shook his head. “I think that was the most exciting thing that’s happened to me all week.”

“Even better than being fake-boyfriend to a complete disaster of a woman?”

“Especially that,” he said with a wink.

Layla blinked. Her heart skipped. Oh no, she thought. He was charming. And not in the usual, polished, trying-too-hard way. Just real. Effortlessly magnetic.

Ethan’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it. “Gotta go.”

“You’re a...?”

“Junior Architect,” he said, pocketing it. “You?”

“Graphic designer. Freelance.”

He smiled. “Cool.”

Another pause. Longer this time. “I’ll see you around?” she asked, unsure why she even said it.

But Ethan tilted his head, amused. “I guess so?”

Layla stared.

He smirked. “Your ex didn’t buy it, by the way.”

She groaned. “I know.”

That night, Layla lay in bed, phone in hand, replaying the bizarre morning. She still couldn’t believe she’d done that. Or that Ethan had gone along with it so easily. Or how good his hand had felt around her shoulders.

Just a random guy, right?