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02

Author: Queen Ella
last update Huling Na-update: 2025-08-07 21:28:21

The bell above the door tinkled softly as Layla stepped into Sage & Quill Bookstore, its warm lamplight and the faint scent of old paper wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. She’d come here to escape—away from her messy apartment, away from Derek, and even away from the chaos of the city streets. Layla reached for a dog-eared copy of Wuthering Heights, her fingers brushing the spine just as another hand reached for the same book.

She looked up, startled.

Ethan.

Of course. Layla’s heart stuttered. Of all the places — she never expected to bump into him again so soon. He looked just as casually disheveled as he had in the coffee shop—plain black hoodie, dark jeans, sleeves pushed to his elbows. His hair was a little messy, and his expression was that same unreadable mix of curiosity and calm.

“Oh,” Layla said, stepping back quickly, the book slipping from her fingers. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“You take it,” Ethan said, offering her the novel.

“No, it’s fine. You were here first.”

They both stared at the book for a beat, then laughed awkwardly. Layla cleared her throat, suddenly remembering every humiliating detail of their last encounter—especially the part where she’d yanked his arm and told her smug, tailored ex-boyfriend he was her new boyfriend.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Ethan set the thriller aside and stepped forward. “I didn’t expect to see you.” He sounded amused, but the warmth in his tone chased away any lingering awkwardness.

She cleared her throat. “Me neither. This is my favorite bookstore. I come here when I need... peace.” She gestured vaguely at the tall shelves, the quiet corners, the old leather armchairs.

“Yeah,” Ethan said, glancing around. “It’s nice.” He winked. Ethan walked closer and tilted his head. “So... was that guy really your ex?”

Layla nodded, closing the poetry book. “Yeah. Derek. We dated for three years. Broke up six months ago. He moved out of town. I thought he was gone for good.”

"And now?"

She sighed, her fingers tracing the edge of the shelf. “Apparently, he’s in town for a few weeks. He’s consulting on some tech project. And of course, he had to show up at our coffee shop while I was dressed like roadkill.”

Ethan smirked. “I thought you looked... creatively disheveled.”

Layla raised an eyebrow. “Flattery noted. But the moment I saw him, I panicked. And then you were just... there.”

"Wrong place, right time, I guess," Ethan said, his tone light. “For the record, I think we made a convincing couple.”

Layla blushed. “Well, thanks for going along with it.”

Ethan waved off her apology. “It was entertaining.” He paused, studying her. “Are you okay, though? Really okay?”

Layla sighed and dropped onto a nearby stool at a small reading table, patting the seat beside her. Ethan sat. She folded her hands in her lap. “I’m... managing,” she said, forcing a small smile.

Ethan’s brow furrowed. “So, Derek? he’s going to keep showing up?”

“He’s probably going to show up here too,” she muttered. “This place was on our ‘favorites’ list.”

“Guess I’m lucky I got in before the ex-boyfriend invasion.”

Layla looked up at him thoughtfully. “You were really good back there. Most guys would’ve frozen or just walked away. But you… you played along like it wasn’t weird at all.”

Ethan sipped his coffee. “Maybe I have a hidden talent.”

“Do you… do you always say yes when women randomly declare you as their boyfriend?”

He chuckled. “Only if they look as panicked as you did.”

Layla gave a sheepish smile. “It’s just… Derek made me feel like crap for so long. I didn’t want him thinking I was still pining or something.”

Ethan raised a brow. “Are you?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Still pining.”

She hesitated. “Not… in that way. It’s complicated.”

Ethan nodded like he understood, even if he didn’t say anything. The silence between them was comfortable for a few moments. He finally leaned back and tapped his fingers against the cup. “Well, you’re not the only one with a complicated family situation.”

Layla raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“My brother’s wedding is next weekend,” Ethan said. “And my mom’s been on a matchmaking spree ever since she found out I’m still single.

“Oh no,” she said, eyes widening. “That sounds… intense.”

“You have no idea,” Ethan said, shaking his head. “She’s got binders. Like actual binders. With profiles of ‘eligible ladies.’”

Layla laughed. “You’re joking.”

“I wish.” He said. “She’s relentless. And honestly, I don’t have the energy to smile through another blind date with someone named Brittany who only talks about her cactus collection.”

Layla tried not to laugh but failed. “Cactus collection?”

“It was intense,” he deadpanned.

Layla felt sympathy for him—his mother’s matchmaking sounded brutally persistent. “That sucks.”

“Which brings me back to you.” He met her gaze. “What if we kept pretending? Just for a little while.”

She stared at him. “Kept... pretending?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning forward. “You know, you and me. A fake couple. I need someone to get my mom off my back for the wedding. And you want Derek to think you’re doing great, right?”

She looked at him carefully. “You’re not joking.”

“Nope,” he replied, smiling. “This could be mutually beneficial.”

Layla bit her lip, her mind spinning. “You do realize how ridiculous this sounds?”

“Absolutely. That’s part of the charm.”

Layla’s mind raced. It sounded insane—and brilliant. “But won’t it get messy?”

He shrugged. “Only if we let it. We set ground rules. Keep it casual. No real expectations.”

Her breath caught. “You’re serious?”

Ethan held up a finger. “Dead serious.” He sat up straight, dropping his voice. “We do a few staged dates, post photos, hold hands in public. You make Derek jealous. I make Mom think I’m happy.”

She eyed him carefully. “That’s a lot of acting.”

Ethan grinned. “I’ve had practice.”

She took a deep breath, thinking of Derek’s smug face, and of her own bruised pride. “Okay,” she said finally. “And when Derek leaves town, or your brother gets married—we end it.”

Ethan stared at her for another moment, then nodded. “Deal.”

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  • contractually yours    29

    Layla almost talked herself out of going. She wasn’t in the mood for a party, not really. Not after last night, not after tossing and turning until dawn with thoughts of Ethan and that gym story. But her best friend Nora had texted her three times, insisting she show up to the party. Ethan had called too, saying he’d swing by her place so they could go together. And still, Layla sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the shoes in her hand, wondering if it was worth it.She preferred quiet nights, a blanket, a good book or a messy project to edit. But Ciara had begged, and Ethan… well, Ethan had said it would be “fun.”Fun. With him, that word carried danger. She sighed and slipped on the shoes, grabbing her bag before she could change her mind.When Ethan knocked, she opened the door and found him leaning in the frame like he always did...too casual, too confident. His hair was still damp from a shower, and his shirt fit just right across his shoulders.“Wow,” he said, giving her a sl

  • contractually yours    28

    Layla was curled up in bed with her laptop still glowing on the blanket beside her. The apartment was quiet, except for the faint hum of her old fridge in the corner. It was late, too late really, but she could not sleep. She had finished editing photos earlier and had told herself she would go to bed early for once. Instead, she had fallen into the trap of endless scrolling.Her thumb flicked lazily across her phone screen, one post after another. Makeup tutorials. A recipe video. A meme that made her snort quietly into the dark. She kept scrolling, her mind half here and half on the ceiling.And then she saw it.Ethan’s story.Her stomach tightened without warning. She tapped it, not really sure why, maybe curiosity, maybe habit.The first clip was simple enough. He was at the gym, camera tilted upward, sweat dripping down his temple. His caption read “Late night grind”. He looked good. Too good. She hated that she noticed.The next clip made her freeze. Ethan wasn’t alone. He was s

  • contractually yours    27

    Ethan wasn’t supposed to care this much.That’s what he kept telling himself the whole way home after leaving Layla’s apartment.She had looked at him with those wide eyes, asking why he cared. He’d nearly told her the truth right there, that she mattered more than he wanted to admit. But then he’d cracked a joke instead, because jokes were safe.Safe was easier.But the truth was, the second he’d seen her story yesterday, that blurry glass across the table, the ache in his chest had been real. Stupidly real.He hated Derek on principle. Hated the way the guy had hurt her before. Hated that Layla had agreed to see him again at all. But what burned the most was knowing Derek had still been sitting across from her, smiling at her, talking to her. And Ethan hadn’t.By evening, Ethan was pacing his living room, restless. He’d tried working out, but even the punching bag hadn’t helped.His phone buzzed on the counter. A message from Layla."Got the photos sent off. Deadline met. I’m offici

  • contractually yours    26

    Layla’s phone buzzed while she was still wiping down her tiny desk. She almost ignored it, until she saw the name.Derek.Her ex.She hadn’t seen his name in weeks, months even. And yet, the moment it appeared, all those old knots in her chest tightened."Hey. Been a while. Want to grab lunch?" The message said.Her thumb hovered over the screen. She should ignore it. She knew she should. Derek was her past, and for good reason. But some part of her, the stubborn part, the scared part, whispered that maybe meeting him was a good idea. A reminder.A reminder that Ethan wasn’t real. That whatever was happening between them was temporary, pretend. That she couldn’t afford to get swept up in something that would only break her later.So she typed back. "Sure. Lunch is fine."---The café smelled of coffee beans and buttered bread. Derek was already there, lounging back in his chair like he owned the place. Same easy grin, same pressed shirt, same cologne that once made her weak in the kne

  • contractually yours    25

    Ethan stayed leaned back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. But Layla could see the way his jaw worked, the little tic that always showed when he was holding something in. Her apartment was still, except for the faint hum of the fridge and the muffled noise of cars outside. After hours of moving things around, the silence felt heavier than it should. Layla hugged the pillow tighter to her chest. She tried to look relaxed, but her body buzzed like she’d had too much coffee. Every detail of the last hour kept replaying in her mind....his hand on her waist, his eyes catching hers, the way their fingers had locked too long over the box. She couldn’t stop feeling the ghost of his touch on her skin. “You’re quiet,” Ethan said finally, turning his head toward her. His voice was calm, but softer than usual. Layla shrugged. “Just… tired, I guess.” “Tired?” He smirked. “You made me do all the work.” That pulled a laugh out of her, and the ten

  • contractually yours    24

    Layla wasn’t exactly sure what had possessed her to text Ethan that morning. Her studio apartment wasn’t a mess, not really, just small, cramped, and filled with more books, clothes, and random knickknacks than the square footage could politely handle. She’d been meaning to rearrange the place for months, convince herself she could “open it up” somehow, make it feel less like a shoebox. But the truth? She could have handled it herself. She usually did. Still, when her thumbs hovered over her phone, the words that came out were: "Hey. Any chance you’re free later? I could use an extra pair of hands to move stuff around my apartment." Extra pair of hands. Right. Totally innocent. Not at all an excuse to see him again after their nonstop texting yesterday. When his reply came back within minutes, "Sure.", her heart had skipped like she was sixteen again. Now, hours later, she stood in the middle of her living room-slash-bedroom-slash-office, biting her lip and rearranging throw pil

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