04

Layla’s living room was dimly lit, laptop screen casting a soft glow on her face as she sat cross-legged on the floor. The air smelled like leftover pad thai and lavender candle smoke. Ethan sat beside her on the couch, flipping through swatches of gray-blue fabrics on his tablet—some project for a boutique hotel renovation.

“Okay,” she said, squinting at her screen, “final verdict: you need new LinkedIn headshots. Your current one says, ‘I didn’t sleep before this was taken.’”

“I didn’t,” he said. “That was the week we pulled three all-nighters in a row. I was practically feral.”

Layla laughed and reached for her water. “Feral, but still employed. Impressive.”

He grinned. “You're a tough boss, you know.”

“And you’re still letting me fake-date you. That’s saying something.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, both absorbed in their screens. Then—ding.

Layla’s phone lit up on the floor between them. A message preview flashed across the top:

Jay: *"Miss me yet?"

Layla’s stomach flipped—not in a good way. She picked up the phone quickly, thumb hovering over the screen. She stared at the screen. Jay—her post-Derek rebound. Harmless, charming, and annoyingly persistent. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks, but he still popped into her messages with the kind of smug confidence of a guy who assumed he still had a shot.

Ethan glanced at her, brow raised. “You okay?”

She gave a casual shrug. “Yeah, just... spam.”

But her thumbs typed anyway:

Layla: Didn’t expect to hear from you.

Jay: I figured. But here I am.

She didn’t reply. Just let the phone fall back to the rug, screen down.

---

Later, after they had finished arguing over what tie color made Ethan look least like a groomsman, they sat with a YouTube tutorial playing in the background. Layla leaned in to adjust the knot she was practicing on Ethan.

“Wait—no, this goes under, then over again,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Or is it the other way?”

“You’re strangling me,” Ethan muttered, half-laughing.

She paused, hand stilling on the fabric. “You’ll survive. Barely.”

Their eyes met—briefly. Layla’s breath caught, and she quickly looked away.

“Okay,” she said, retreating a step. The air between them shifted. It was supposed to be fake. Pretend. Convenient. "We should get a photo. For I*******m. You know, make Derek think I’m thriving."

He nodded, sliding beside her. "Thriving it is."

As she held the phone up and they posed, Ethan rested his hand lightly against her back, thumb brushing a spot just beneath her shoulder. She caught his eye through the screen and smiled—a real one this time.

Snap.

The photo captured a moment neither of them fully understood yet.

Back at home, she posted it. No caption. Within minutes, Derek liked it. Ethan’s mom commented: “Looking adorable!! Can’t wait for the wedding!"

And Layla? She didn’t text Jay back.

***

Ethan sat on his couch, half-watching a rerun of The Office while sipping a warm beer. His phone buzzed. A notification from his old dating app—Winkr.

"Riley liked your profile! Say hi?"

He blinked. That app was still on his phone?

“Crap,” he muttered, swiping the notification away.

The front door opened without a knock, as usual. Layla stepped in, holding a bag of takeout. “Pad Thai. You better have saved room.”

Ethan grinned. “I was born ready.”

She plopped down next to him and handed him a container. Just as he grabbed it, her eyes flicked to his phone.

“Still swiping?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

He followed her gaze and sighed. “Old notification. I haven’t opened it in forever.”

Layla didn’t say anything at first, just jabbed her chopsticks into the noodles.

Then, lightly: “Don’t get caught fake-dating me while real-dating someone else. That’d be awkward.”

Ethan chuckled, but there was a weird twist in his stomach. “Only if you don’t go running back to Jay.”

Her head whipped toward him.

He raised an eyebrow. “What? I saw his name pop up on your phone the other night.”

Layla narrowed her eyes. “Were you snooping?”

“Um, no." He paused. “Do you miss him?”

"Who?" She asked.

"Jay."

Her mouth opened. Then closed.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, voice softer. “He’s easy. Familiar. But it’s nothing serious.”

“Right,” Ethan said. He stared at his noodles like they had secrets.

The silence dragged.

Layla exhaled. “Look. We agreed to fake-date. This wasn’t supposed to be… complicated.”

“Yeah. Totally uncomplicated,” Ethan echoed, forcing a smile.

But his heart thudded a little too hard when her hand brushed his reaching for the soy sauce.

Over the next few days, they didn’t bring up Jay. Or Winkr. But the tension lingered in unspoken ways.

During a pretend hand-holding walk through the park, Layla’s fingers stayed curled a little tighter around his. When they took couple selfies, her head leaned in a little closer.

And one night, after too many drinks and a shared pizza on Ethan’s balcony, she rested her head on his shoulder.

“You ever think we’re faking it a little too well?” she asked.

Ethan swallowed. “All the time.”

She didn’t move. And he didn’t want her to.

---

But complications weren’t done with them. Jay showed up. At her building.

Layla opened the front door one Saturday to find him standing there with that same confident smirk she’d once found charming.

“Hey,” he said, holding up a takeaway coffee. “I was in the neighborhood.”

She stared. “Seriously?”

Jay’s eyes scanned her face. “You’ve been MIA. Figured I’d stop by. Catch up. You look good.”

Before she could answer, a second voice cut in.

“Babe, you want me to start the eggs or wait for you?”

Layla turned.

Ethan. Shirt slightly rumpled, barefoot, holding her keys. He hadn’t planned to stay the night. He just… hadn’t left.

Jay’s eyes flicked between them.

Layla stepped closer to Ethan without thinking. “Jay, this is Ethan. My boyfriend.”

Jay’s smile tightened. “Right. The new guy.”

Ethan’s arm slipped around her waist. “Nice to meet you, man.”

The next five minutes were a blur of awkward small talk and forced goodbyes. When the door finally shut, Layla turned to Ethan.

“I didn’t know he’d come.”

Ethan nodded. “It’s okay.”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “You didn’t have to… y’know. Jump in.”

He looked at her. “I wanted to.”

Their eyes met. And this time, neither looked away.

The lines were blurring.

And maybe… neither of them really wanted to redraw them.