The café was quiet at six in the morning.
Jane stood behind the counter, wiping surfaces that were already spotless, movements automatic, mind miles away.
She'd barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the emerald dress hanging on the back of her door. Sophia's voice—low, unguarded—saying beautiful. The way her gaze had lingered, soft and intense.
Jane's hand stilled.
Tonight.
In less than twelve hours, she'd be at a dinner table with Sophia's family, pretending to be her girlfriend.
Except the pretending part was starting to feel paper-thin.
The bell chimed.
Mr. Ben walked in with a box of fresh pastries. He glanced at Jane, did a double-take.
"You're here early."
"Couldn't sleep," Jane said.
He set the box down, studying her with that quiet concern he always carried. "Something weighing on you?"
"Just... a lot happening today."
"Good lot or bad lot?"
Jane's lips twitched. "Still figuring that out."
Mr. Ben nodded, unpacking croissants onto the display tray. "In my experience, when you're not sure if it's good or bad, it's usually important."
Jane looked at him. "You think so?"
"Yeah." He placed one carefully. "Important things are messy. That's how you know they're worth something."
Jane didn't reply, but the words settled somewhere deep.
"You want to talk?" he asked.
"Not really."
"Fair." He smiled gently. "But the offer stands. And I still make a mean cup of coffee."
Jane huffed a small laugh. "I've been making them for you for months."
"Exactly. So you know I'm serious."
He disappeared into the back, leaving her alone again.
She went back to wiping, but slower now.
Important.
Was this important?
Or just... reckless?
Her phone buzzed in her apron pocket.
Mia: Big day. You ready?
Jane stared, then typed: No.
Instant reply: Good. If you were ready, I'd be worried. Means you don't care. And we both know you do.
Jane's chest tightened.
Another message: One dinner. You got this. If it gets weird, fake a stomachache and bail.
Jane almost smiled.
She typed: Noted.
Mia sent a string of hearts, then: Text when you're home safe. And try not to fall harder for Dr. Fancy Car tonight.
Jane's thumb hovered.
She locked the phone instead.
The morning shift blurred by—brewing, pouring, smiling at regulars, refilling sugars.
But Jane's mind stayed stuck on last night.
The dress against her skin. Sophia's eyes, unguarded for once.
You look beautiful.
She'd heard compliments before. Casual ones. Empty ones.
This hadn't felt casual.
It had felt like truth.
"Jane?"
She blinked. A customer waited, looking puzzled.
"Sorry," Jane said quickly. "What can I get you?"
The woman ordered a latte. Jane made it on autopilot.
When the customer left, she leaned against the counter, exhaling.
Mr. Ben came out with clean mugs. He glanced at her, set the tray down.
"You've been glaring at that machine like it owes you money."
Jane straightened. "I'm fine."
"Uh-huh." He crossed his arms, kind but direct. "Jane, I've known you long enough to know 'fine' looks different when it's real."
She looked away. "It's just... tonight. I have this dinner. With someone's family."
His eyebrows rose. "Someone important?"
"Yeah."
"Nervous?"
"Terrified."
"Because you care what they think?"
"Because I care what she thinks."
The words escaped before Jane could catch them.
Mr. Ben's expression softened. "Ah."
Jane's cheeks burned. "It's complicated."
"Always is." He leaned beside her. "Want to know what this old man has learned?"
Jane managed a faint smile. "What?"
"The things that scare you most? Usually the ones worth chasing. Even if they don't work out—at least you'll know. Better than wondering forever."
Jane's throat tightened.
Mr. Ben patted her shoulder. "Now go refill table three. They've been waving."
Jane laughed softly, grabbing the pot.
By noon, her shift ended. Jane walked back to the hostel slowly, sun warm, shopping bag tucked under her arm.
Mia was already in the room, cross-legged on her bed with a textbook.
She looked up. "There she is. The woman about to conquer dinner."
Jane set the bag down. "It's not even time yet."
"Doesn't matter. This is big." Mia closed the book, giving Jane her full focus. "How are you holding up?"
"Like I'm about to step off a ledge."
Mia softened. "You can still back out. No shame."
"I know."
"But you're not going to."
Jane shook her head.
"Because of her."
Jane didn't deny it.
Mia sighed, then scooted closer. "Okay. Then we're doing this right. Hair, makeup, the works."
"Mia, I don't—"
"Yes, you do." Mia stood, heading for the closet. "You deserve to feel unstoppable tonight. Not for her—for you."
Jane's eyes stung. "Mia..."
"No arguments. Sit. Let me work magic."
Jane sat.
For the next few hours, she let Mia fuss—brushing hair into soft waves, subtle makeup, small adjustments.
But even as Mia chattered, Jane's mind drifted.
To Sophia.
To what might happen when pretending started feeling too real.
At one point, Mia paused, brush in hand. "You're quiet. Spill."
Jane hesitated. "What if... what if I don't want it to be pretend anymore?"
Mia met her eyes in the mirror. "Then maybe tonight's the night you find out."
Jane swallowed. "And if she doesn't feel the same?"
"Then you know. And you keep going. But something tells me she does."
Jane didn't answer.
She just stared at her reflection—nervous, but ready.
At five-thirty, Jane stood in front of the mirror.
Emerald dress. Soft waves framing her face. Makeup polished but natural.
She looked... like someone who belonged in Sophia's world.
And yet still herself.
Mia stood behind her, arms crossed, grinning. "You look incredible."
Jane's reflection stared back—uncertain, but there.
"You think?"
"I know." Mia squeezed her shoulder. "Now go knock her dead."..
Jane's phone buzzed.
Sophia: I'm outside.
Heart in her throat, Jane grabbed the borrowed clutch.
Mia caught her arm. "Hey."
Jane turned.
"Be careful," Mia said softly. "But be honest. At least with yourself."
Jane nodded. "I will."
She stepped into the hallway, down the stairs, out into evening light.
Sophia's car waited at the curb.