3 - Brunch and Blurred Lines
697 Words
By the time Ava finished her third wardrobe change, her bedroom looked like a fashion hurricane had touched down.
She stood in front of the mirror, assessing her reflection in a white eyelet sundress—cinched at the waist, light and soft, with flutter sleeves that gave her an innocent, girl-next-door glow. She added a pale blue cardigan, unbuttoned, and slipped on nude flats. Sweet. Romantic. Like she wasn’t at all plotting revenge through emotional warfare and fake dating.
Her phone buzzed.
Ethan: Outside. And on time. Like a damn gentleman.
She grabbed her purse, took one last breath, and headed down.
When she opened the front door, he was leaning against a sleek black Audi, sunglasses on, tie loose, sleeves rolled up just enough to show off strong forearms and a silver watch.
He took one look at her and smirked. “You look like a Disney princess.”
“Good,” she replied, walking past him. “Now get in character, Prince Arrogant.”
He opened the passenger door for her without a word, his smirk lingering as she slid in. When he circled to the driver’s side and got in, he tossed his sunglasses onto the dash.
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
“I was born ready.”
“Hmm.” He started the car. “Let’s see how good of an actress you really are.”
The brunch spot was high-end, a trendy café known for its exposed brick walls, overpriced mimosas, and long waitlists. But Ethan, being Ethan, had a reservation.
The hostess practically fluttered when she saw him.
“Table for two, Mr. Blackwell? Right this way.”
Ava leaned into him as they followed her, looping her arm around his. His body tensed just slightly at the contact, then relaxed.
Good. Let him squirm.
Their table was in the center of the room—very visible. Ethan pulled out her chair before sitting across from her.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered.
“I know. Just playing the part.” He lifted his menu. “Remember, we’re supposed to be sickeningly into each other.”
“Oh, I’ve seen enough rom-coms to fake that flawlessly.”
He raised an eyebrow. “This should be fun, then.”
She smiled sweetly and reached across the table to touch his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “Darling, what should we order?”
Ethan gave her a look—half amused, half surprised—and played along with a deep, overly affectionate voice. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’ll just have what you’re having. Like I always do.”
She snorted, covering her mouth. “Okay, too much.”
He chuckled. “Told you I’m a great actor.”
But when the waiter arrived and Ava leaned over the table to whisper in Ethan’s ear—just for show—she noticed it again: the flicker in his eyes when she got too close. A catch in his breath. Barely there, but there all the same.
And he didn’t pull away.
In fact, as she leaned back, his hand casually found her knee under the table.
Steady. Warm. Possessive.
Her eyes met his, questioning.
He just tilted his head, voice casual. “People are watching.”
But his thumb brushed softly against the inside of her knee—once.
And just like that, she forgot how to breathe.
Then came the cherry on top.
Connor.
Her ex.
Ava spotted him three tables over, with a girl that looked like a budget version of Hailey Bieber and a haircut that screamed “midlife crisis.”
He spotted her at the same time.
And froze.
Ethan followed her gaze, then smirked. “Showtime.”
He reached for her hand across the table, laced their fingers together, and brought them to his lips—pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her knuckles while staring directly into her eyes.
“Smile,” he murmured.
So she did.
Even though her heart was pounding, and her stomach was tangled in knots, she smiled like she was in love.
Because maybe… just maybe… pretending with Ethan Blackwell was far too easy.
- Writer
