That's How it Happens

10. Schmooze or lose

The house hadn't changed in five years. Not a single shutter out of place, not a single brick weathered. As Ainsley stepped out of the car, her eyes instinctively drifted up to her father's study window – always the first thing she looked at – then down to where the path curved toward the house barn. On a normal day, she'd escape there. But today wasn't normal. Not with her mother waiting behind the grand front door, armed with questions and judgment about why they were hours late.

Leo had unintentionally torpedoed her one shot at proving her mother wrong.

"Hey," Leo said behind her, voice cautious, like he was approaching a wild animal. She didn't blame him. She was on edge. But the sound of concern still grated against her nerves, which only made her feel worse.

She turned slightly, just enough to acknowledge him. It was all she could manage without snapping – or worse, crying.

"Look at me," he said gently, touching her hand.

She didn't move. She couldn't. If she looked at him now, he'd see everything. And she couldn't let that happen. Not when she knew what he didn't: she was setting him up. Maybe not maliciously, but still. It felt like revenge, and she wasn't even sure who she was punishing.

He squeezed her hand, and her resolve cracked. She turned toward him, but her eyes stayed fixed on the gravel.

"You good?" he asked, waiting for the usual I'm fine. But she didn't say it this time. That silence gave him hope – and made her stomach twist.

"Ains," he said, trying again. "You have to tell me what's going on before we walk in there. Otherwise, they'll know something's off between us."

"Between us," she echoed, voice barely audible. "There isn't an us, Leo."

And that was the problem.

"I know that, Ains." Leo pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to shove down the irritation clawing at him. "I mean – they'll know we're not okay."

They weren't fighting. Not really. But she didn't correct him. Saying it out loud would only spark an argument, and she wasn't in the mood to fan the flames. Besides, he was right. If they had any hope of pulling this off, they needed to be aligned. Not that she believed it would work. Her faith had sputtered out somewhere between the engine failure and the silence that followed. If it had ever existed at all.

"Ainsley, seriously. Just tell me what's going on so we can get through this and move on. I can't take the silent treatment anymore. Meeting your family like this?" He gestured toward the looming front door. "I'd rather talk to the mannequin."

That earned a reluctant smile. She covered her mouth quickly, looking away.

"Nice to know you're still there," he muttered.

She glanced at him, guilt flickering in her chest. He was upset – and she hated that – but part of her couldn't help but trace the chaos of the past week back to him. He was the common thread. Her eyes drifted back to the door.

"I'm just... scared of how this ends," she said quietly. "I don't want to ruin what we have."

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Immediate regret followed. Why had she said that?

"Why would it-" he started, but she cut him off, pacing now, chewing her thumbnail like it might keep her thoughts from spilling out.

"Don't you think this whole thing screams bad idea? Don't answer that," she added, pointing at him without looking. If he said it was too late to back out, she might actually lose it. "This is the setup for every rom-com disaster. Best friends make some grand gesture, cross a line, and then everything falls apart. I'm not ready to lose you over something so... stupid."