Updated Jan 26, 2026 • ~7 min read
Des called a week into our living arrangement. “We have a situation.”
“Another one?” I put the phone on speaker so Jaxon could hear. We were in the kitchen making dinner—a domestic routine that was becoming surprisingly normal.
“Frank’s lawyer is arguing that you two aren’t really family. That you’re strangers cohabitating out of convenience, not genuine relationship. They’re trying to paint it as a scheme to keep the house.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” I said.
“I know. But we can’t admit that.” Des sighed. “They’ve requested depositions. They’re going to ask about your relationship, your plans for the future, your commitment to each other. If you come across as hostile or disconnected, it weakens our case.”
“So what do we do?” Jaxon asked.
“You convince them you’re a family. A real one. Not just cousins tolerating each other for legal convenience.”
I looked at Jaxon. He looked back at me. We’d been carefully polite for a week—cordial roommates, nothing more. No touching, minimal personal conversation, safe distance maintained at all times.
“How convinced do they need to be?” I asked slowly.
“Enough that the judge believes you’re planning a future together. That this house is your joint home, not just a temporary arrangement.”
After Des hung up, Jaxon and I sat at the kitchen table in silence.
“So,” he said finally. “We need to pretend we’re… what? Close family? Best friends? Something more?”
“Something more would be more convincing,” I admitted. “People fight harder to keep homes they share with romantic partners than cousins.”
“You want to fake date for the legal case?”
“I don’t want to. But it might be our best option.” I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug. “Frank’s lawyer is going to be looking for cracks. If we present as family building a life together, romantically involved and committed to the house, it’s a stronger case than ‘distant relatives who just met.'”
“Okay. So we fake it. How?”
“Public displays. Hold hands in town. Have dinner at restaurants where people will see us. Act like a couple.”
“I can do that.” His voice was careful. “If you’re comfortable with it.”
Was I comfortable pretending to date the man who’d violated my privacy but was trying to earn back my trust? No. Absolutely not.
But was I willing to do it to save Grammy’s house? Yes.
“Ground rules,” I said. “It’s fake. We make that clear to each other even if we don’t make it clear publicly. No blurring lines.”
“Agreed.”
“And we tell Mars. I’m not lying to them about this.”
“Of course.”
“And when this is over, we stop. We go back to being whatever we were before.”
“Roommates trying to figure out forgiveness?”
“Yeah. That.”
He held out his hand. “Deal.”
I shook it. Felt that same electric spark. Ignored it.
Our first public “date” was Bean There the next morning.
“Remember,” I muttered as we walked in. “Couple. Committed. Building a life.”
“Got it.” Jaxon took my hand.
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the contact. His hand was warm, rough with calluses, and entirely too comfortable holding mine.
Thea raised her eyebrows when she saw us. “Well well. You two look cozy.”
“Yeah.” Jaxon smiled at me, and it looked almost real. “We’re figuring things out.”
“About time. Your grandma would be thrilled, Juni.”
Would she? I wasn’t sure. But I smiled and ordered my latte while Jaxon kept holding my hand.
We sat at our usual table. He kept his arm around the back of my chair. Leaned in like he was invested in every word I said. Played the part perfectly.
“You’re good at this,” I muttered.
“At what?”
“Acting like you’re in love with me.”
“Who says I’m acting?”
My breath caught. Before I could respond, he continued: “Fake it til you make it, right?”
“Right.” But my heart was racing in a way that had nothing to do with the legal case.
Over the next two weeks, we perfected our fake relationship. Held hands walking through town. Had dinner at the local Italian restaurant where half of Maplewood could see us sharing tiramisu. Went to the farmer’s market and picked out vegetables like a couple planning meals together.
And it was getting harder to remember what was fake and what wasn’t.
“You’re falling for him,” Mars observed one night when I stopped by the bookstore.
“I’m not. It’s fake. For the legal case.”
“Juni. I’ve known you for fifteen years. I know what you look like when you’re faking.” They leaned against the counter. “And whatever’s happening with Jaxon? It’s not fake.”
“It has to be fake. He violated my trust. I can’t just forget that.”
“You’re not forgetting it. You’re moving past it. There’s a difference.”
“I don’t know how to move past it.”
“Yes, you do. You choose to. Every day. You choose whether to hold onto the anger or let it go.”
That night, Jaxon and I attended the town historical society meeting. It was packed—everyone wanted to discuss the fight to preserve 42 Maple Street from Frank’s challenge.
“Juni and Jaxon are doing amazing work on the house,” announced Adelaide, the society president. “Restoring it properly, honoring its history. Exactly what Imogene would have wanted.”
People murmured agreement. Then Pierce, the local contractor, spoke up: “But are they keeping it long-term? Or is this just temporary until the legal stuff settles?”
All eyes turned to us.
“Long-term,” Jaxon said firmly. He took my hand, squeezed. “We’re building a life there. Together.”
“As family?” someone asked.
“As partners,” I heard myself say. “We’re committed to preserving Grammy’s legacy and building our future in that house.”
It should have felt like lying. But sitting there with Jaxon’s hand in mine, facing down a room full of people who’d known Grammy, it felt like truth.
After the meeting, we walked home in the November cold.
“Thank you,” Jaxon said. “For saying that. About being partners.”
“It’s what they needed to hear.”
“Is it what you believe?”
I stopped walking. Looked up at him in the glow of streetlights. “I don’t know what I believe anymore. A month ago, I hated you. Now we’re living together and holding hands and I’m losing track of what’s real.”
“I can tell you what’s real.” He stepped closer. “What’s real is that I’m falling for you more every day. That living with you is the best thing that’s happened to me. That this started as fake but it stopped being fake weeks ago, at least for me.”
“Jaxon—”
“I’m not asking you to feel the same way. I’m just telling you the truth. Because no more secrets, right? We promised.”
“We did.” My heart was hammering. “The truth is… I don’t know how to do this. How to want someone who hurt me. How to trust someone who violated me.”
“Then don’t trust me yet. Just… don’t shut me out.” His thumb rubbed circles on the back of my hand. “Let me keep earning it. Day by day.”
“What if you can’t earn it? What if I’m too broken?”
“You’re not broken. You’re careful. There’s a difference.” He smiled softly. “And careful people just need patient ones.”
We stood on the sidewalk three blocks from home, holding hands, balanced on the edge of something real and terrifying.
“The depositions are next week,” I said finally.
“I know.”
“We need to be convincing.”
“We will be.”
“Because if we’re not, Frank wins. And the house—”
“We won’t let that happen. We’ll fight. Together.”
Together. The word felt different than it had weeks ago. Felt less like strategy and more like promise.
“Okay,” I said. “Together.”
We walked the rest of the way home hand in hand.
And I stopped trying to figure out what was fake and what was real.
Because maybe it didn’t matter.
Maybe what mattered was that we were trying.
And sometimes, trying was enough.
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