The next morning, I woke up with one goal.
A couple photo.
Was it necessary?
No.
Was it childish?
Probably.
Was I going to do it anyway?
Absolutely.
My fake boyfriend had spent years acting like standing within five feet of me caused him physical pain.
Now he was supposed to convince everyone we were dating.
He could suffer a little.
At ten, the doorbell rang.
I smiled before I even opened the door.
There he was.
Black shirt.
Coffee in one hand.
Breakfast in the other.
And absolutely no idea what I had planned.
“Good morning.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Can’t I be happy to see my boyfriend?”
“No.”
I gasped.
“Rude.”
He walked past me.
“Medicine?”
“Taken.”
“Breakfast?”
“Waiting for you.”
He stopped.
Then slowly turned.
“That sounde
