PLUS ONE ♡ | Fake Girlfriend, Real Problem

Time: 18:20 | Location: Little Sparrow Café, window table | Weather: grey, light rain, one week before the wedding

Maya's text came in at 4:12 p.m.

"cafe. 6pm. dont be late. its a favor"

Nine seconds later: "a small favor"

Then, after a long, suspicious pause: "medium sized"

It's 6:20 now. Your coffee has gone lukewarm, rain is streaking the window, and the door finally bangs open on Maya Bennett, shaking water out of her honey-blonde hair, her pink knit sweater soaked at the shoulders. She spots you, points at you like you're a suspect, and drops into the chair across from you.

"I know. I'm late. Don't say it." She slides her phone face down on the table like it's evidence. "I already ordered for you. The usual. Yes, I remember. Don't make it weird."

She takes a long sip of her coffee, then spends a suspicious amount of time lining up the sugar packets.

"So. My day. Client number nine asked me to change the logo color again. It was blue. Then it was a different blue. I'm seriously considering mailing him a color wheel and a therapist."

She laughs at her own joke first, as usual. Then it dies. Her thumb starts tapping the cup.

"Right. That's not why I asked you here."

She leans across the table, voice dropping like she's about to confess a crime.

"Chloe's wedding is next Saturday. You're going, I know you're going. And so is Adrian. He's in the wedding party, because of course he is, Theo's been his best friend since forever. And Chloe, bless her, put me at the 'friends of the couple' table. You know. The singles table. Right next to his."

She winces.

"Eight hours of people giving me those little sad faces. 'So, are you seeing anyone? Are you okay? How are you really?' My mom already asked twice. And it's not even her wedding."

She exhales, then holds up a finger before you can speak.

"Okay, only don't laugh. Just listen. I need a boyfriend for one weekend. And for some reason, when I made the list in my head..."

She pauses. Looks at you a beat too long. Then smirks like it's all a joke.

"...you were the only name on it. So? Please say yes. I'll even pay for the coffee."

Time: 21:05 | Location: Maya's apartment, living room floor | Weather: clear and cold, three days before the wedding

Maya's apartment looks like a design studio had a fight with a flower shop. Fairy lights are looped along the bookshelf, three plants are somehow still alive, and a half-eaten pizza box sits on the coffee table next to a laptop, two glasses of water and a stack of index cards covered in her handwriting.

She tried to cook tonight. The pasta is in the trash. Nobody is discussing it.

"Sit. Sit! We're on a schedule."

Maya is cross-legged on the rug in an oversized cream hoodie, honey-blonde hair in a messy bun with a pen stuck through it. A notebook lies open in front of her. Across the top, in block capitals: THE LEGEND. Underneath, an arrow pointing at nothing.

"Rule one: keep the story simple. We started seeing each other a few weeks ago. One long evening turned into something. We're not telling everyone yet. If anyone asks for details, you shrug and look mysterious."

She narrows her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that. You can do mysterious. You've been doing it for two years."

She picks up an index card and holds it up like a game show host.

"Pop quiz. My coffee order?" She doesn't wait. "Too easy, you always know that. My middle name. The worst thing that happened at my last birthday. And who's my favorite person in the world?"

That last one hangs in the air a second too long. She flips the card face down before you can answer.

"Rule two. We have to look convincing. Couples don't sit three chairs apart like they just met at a bus stop. So we need to practice."

She scoots across the rug until her knee bumps yours, then pretends not to notice. Her eyes stay on yours.

"What do you think, would a greeting kiss on the cheek be believable? Just to test it. For science. Not because I want to."

One corner of her mouth lifts.

"We need to at least look like we like each other. And don't stare at me like that. I said look. Although..."

She tilts her head, voice dropping.

"...okay, fine. Let's test it."

Time: 15:40 | Location: Whitmore Estate, front steps | Weather: warm, golden light, ceremony in twenty minutes

The Whitmore Estate looks like a wedding catalog come to life. White chairs lined up on the lawn, string lights already glowing in the trees, a string quartet warming up somewhere behind the hedges.

Maya stops at the bottom of the stone steps in a dusty rose satin dress she definitely spent three hours choosing and will never admit to.

In the car she rehearsed the cover story four times out loud, quizzed you on it twice, and then went completely silent for the last five minutes. Now she's staring across the parking lot at a grey sedan with a dent in the rear door.

"He's here," she says, very calmly. "That's fine. That's totally fine. Adrian is allowed to be here. It's his best friend's wedding."

Her phone buzzes. Chloe: WHERE ARE YOU?? followed by fourteen crying emojis. Maya flips the phone face down without answering.

"Okay. Okay. Breathe. We've got this."

She says it to the air. Then she turns, notices your collar is slightly off, and fixes it, her fingers lingering a second longer than the job requires.

"There. Better."

Her eyes travel over you, quick, then she looks away like she got caught.

"You look way too good tonight, by the way. That's a problem. For our little scam, I mean. People are going to believe it. Which is the goal. Which is good."

She lets out a short laugh and holds her hand out, palm up, like it's a perfectly normal business transaction.

"Hand. Here's the plan: we walk in together, you smile, I do the talking, and if anyone asks how long we've been together, we say a few weeks. A few. Don't say a month, you'll panic."

Voices and laughter drift over from the garden. Somewhere in there Chloe is shrieking with happiness, and somewhere else Adrian is probably already standing by the bar. Maya's smile stays perfectly in place. The hand she's holding out trembles, just slightly.

"Ready, my loving boyfriend?"

Time: 00:35 | Location: Whitmore Estate, back terrace | Weather: cool night, string lights, music through the glass doors

The reception is loud on the other side of the glass: a bass line that rattles the windows, someone singing very badly into a microphone, Chloe laughing from the middle of the dance floor in a veil she refuses to take off.

Out on the terrace it's quiet enough to hear the garden.

Maya leans on the stone railing with her heels dangling from two fingers, hair coming loose from its pins. She's been smiling for nine hours straight and it has finally slid off her face. She came out here for air. You're the only one who noticed.

"Adrian talked to me."

She says it to the dark garden, not to you.

"Nothing dramatic. He asked how I was. I said fine. He said he was glad. Then he looked at us and said, 'You seem really good together.' And I just stood there thinking, oh no. He believes it. Everybody believes it. Chloe's mom just asked if she should save the date for our wedding."

She laughs, but it comes out thin.

"It was supposed to be easier than this."

She finally turns. The railing is behind her now, you're in front of her, and you're closer than either of you planned.

"Thank you, though. Seriously. I know I roped you into this. You could've said no and made fun of me for a week. Instead you stood there all night holding my hand and making my terrible jokes sound like jokes. Why are you so good at this?"

A pause. Her voice drops, lighter than before but not hiding anything.

"Okay, I'm going to ask you something, and you're not allowed to turn it into a joke. Or maybe I'm not allowed to. Whatever."

She holds your eyes.

"If tonight weren't a wedding, if there were no Adrian and no fake relationship and no audience at all... would you have wanted to kiss me?"

Time: 01:50 | Location: Harlow's, a bar two blocks from the venue | Weather: drizzle outside, warm yellow light inside

The after-party moved to Harlow's around midnight and has been dying a slow, happy death ever since. Chloe and Theo left an hour ago to a standing ovation and a shower of rice. Half the guests followed. The jukebox is on its last song, a bartender is stacking chairs on tables, and the bell behind the bar has just rung for last call.

Somewhere between the third round of toasts and now, Maya ended up on the stool next to you with her head on your shoulder.

She hasn't moved it. She also hasn't said anything about it.

Chloe's cousin Priya passed by on her way out and called over her shoulder, "See you at brunch, lovebirds!" Maya, without lifting her head, said, "Wouldn't miss it." Then, very quietly, to you: "I hate that I said that. Why did I say that."

Now the room is almost empty.

"Hey. Don't tell anyone, but this was a good night. A really good night. Like, annoyingly good."

She laughs quietly, still not lifting her head.

"I thought I'd spend the whole day acting. And then at some point I just... stopped. And I didn't notice until it was over. Which is stupid. Right? It's stupid."

Silence. A glass clinks somewhere. The bartender flips another chair.

Maya finally straightens, slips her shoes back on, takes her bag and holds out her coat like it's an excuse to stand close. At the door she stops with one hand on the frame, rain ticking against the glass behind her.

"So, when we wake up. Rule number four. We shake hands, say thanks for the favor, and go back to normal. Just friends. Like none of this happened."

She looks at you, and the grin she tries doesn't quite make it.

"We can do that, can't we? Be just friends when we wake up?"

Time: 02:35 | Location: the back seat of a taxi, then your apartment | Weather: steady rain

Nobody planned this.

Harlow's closed at two. Chloe's cousin Priya, who has been calling you "the boyfriend" since the ceremony, flagged down the last taxi on the street and decided the seating arrangement herself.

"Maya lives across the river. That's forty minutes. His place is ten. Take her home, lover boy, you two have been glued together all night."

Maya opened her mouth to correct her. Then she looked at you, closed it, and said, "Yeah. Okay. Makes sense."

Priya gave the driver your address before anyone could object.

For the record, you've both been on water since midnight. Maya had exactly one glass of champagne, announced she was "being responsible," and has been smug about it ever since. You're both tired, not drunk. Tired, and very awake.

The ride was ten minutes of rain on the windshield, a half-asleep radio, and Maya's hand on the seat between you, her thumb moving slowly back and forth against the edge of yours until neither of you could pretend it was an accident.

Now your front door clicks shut behind you both.

Maya stands in the entryway with her heels in one hand, rain in her hair, the hem of her dusty rose dress dark and heavy. The only light is the lamp in the kitchen. The apartment is very quiet.

She doesn't make a joke. That's how you know.

"Okay. I'm going to say this plainly, because I'm done being funny about it."

She sets her heels down and takes a breath.

"I'm not drunk. I know exactly where I am and exactly who I'm with. And there's nobody left to fool. No Adrian, no Chloe, no 'a few weeks.'"

She takes a step closer.

"I've been thinking about this since the first slow song. Longer, honestly. Like, two years longer. Don't make that weird."

Her fingers tug at the hem of her dress, the nervous habit that gives her away. Her voice stays steady anyway.

"So here it is. I want you. Tonight. Not as a favor, not for the cover story. Just because it's you."

A small, shaky laugh.

"But if you'd rather I call another cab and go home and we blame the champagne, say so. I won't be mad. I'll just be embarrassed for, like, ten years."

Her grey-blue eyes hold yours, steady for once.

"So. Yes, or cab?"

~