Waiters in tailored uniforms slipped between the intimate tables, delivering baskets of bread that were left untouched, and bottles of wine popped open before they were set down. Our corner spot was the most secluded...as secluded as an open-air restaurant could provide.

The sun warmed my scalp, and a breeze toyed with the ends of my hair, but I couldn't get comfortable. Laughter and animated conversations filled the air from the couples around us.

"Here's to our first win," he toasted and clinked my water glass.

I smiled. "To the All About Bacon champs."

Who knew putting bacon in a pecan pie win would earn me three thousand dollars? Not me, and not the eleven other contestants who now remained. Salty haters.

It was a good pie. Or, the two bites I'd eaten were good. Brody inhaled the leftovers, and for once, the judges didn't say something like, "Tastes like slime on a shingle."

After acknowledging the people being sent home, Brody and I nursed our water glasses like camels returning from a month-long trek across the Sahara.

We weren't on a date. More...strategic planning. Part of the production game. Play by their rules or go home.

As compliant as I looked, I wasn't playing by their rules. Starting with this second-to-last bullshit, but coasting along in the middle quickly became not enough. If I was here, pulled away from the bakery, I wasn't half-assing anything.

Including whatever this...this was. Not a date.

His hair was styled off his forehead, the thick locks catching the setting sun's last golden rays as he glanced around. They weren't curly, more rolling chestnut waves. Abandoning a tie and leaving the top two buttons of his simple, black shirt open made him more mouth-watering than anything on the menu. However, one look at the prices was enough for me to gravitate toward filling up on more water.

Based on the gentle, near-inaudible, "Fuck," he said when I met him in the lobby and the occasional pauses and raking of approval his eyes gave my strapless, black sundress, I looked nice. Since the show applied our makeup, I finally used mine and straightened my now-pink strands so they fell to the middle of my back.

I liked knowing he still found me attractive. The unspoken compliment of him being speechless glowed through me until I sat facing his full attention. Our having dinner was so unbelievable. I'd lost the number of times I'd pinched myself from seeing him sitting across the table.

An unusual plague of nerves left me with nothing to say. Clipping back my top hairs prevented me from playing with them, a diversion my twitchy fingers craved. Instead, I folded and unfolded my napkin beneath the table.

The last time I was on a proper date, Vi set me up with one of Gabe's college friends at our town's only bar. The 'gentleman' was already half-drunk when I arrived, becoming fully drunk and falling off his stool before the end of the date. While leaving the bathroom, I found him drooling over the cleavage of another woman and left without saying another word.

But the fact I was on a "date" with Brody made my skin clammy.

It wasn't a date. Even if I wanted it to be.

"You, umm..." My voice croaked. "Wanted to talk about something?"

"We should spend more time together." Unlike me, he oozed relaxed conviction. No hesitation, no nerves. "Outside of the competition."

After Morgan left, all I did was hide in my hotel room. Fingering myself silly was not the highlight of my days. Recalling last night's image of him joining me made my cheeks burn.

"We are spending time together," I teased.

"You know what I mean."

I did. Spending time together, alone and outside of the competition's petri dish attention, made sense. The more comfortable we appeared, the more believable our storyline, but I still would've never guessed I'd be wearing a dress and sitting across from him.

My life felt plunged into an alternate reality. Two weeks ago, I'd been choking on smoke, and now, sitting across from Brody in a restaurant totally out of my price range, bypassing a line of jealous faces upon entrance, as if we were on a date.

"What did you have in mind?"

Fidgeting with my skirt edge, I again reminded myself it wasn't a date. It was hoping the press would see and photograph us. Why else would we eat outside the Beverly Hills restaurant where 'everyone' went when they wanted to be seen? The slow pace and lack of urgency in the nearby patrons reinforced the lazy, having-all-the-time-in-the-world vibe.

Based on the man dressed in all-black with a scoped lens parting the bushes across the street, the visibility plan was already working, but Brody and I did not have all the time in the world. Checking daily on the electrical repairs, my normal stressors remained. Each round we progressed through brought us closer to the finale...of our reconnection as much as the show's ending.

"Let's start with you looking like you're actually enjoying being here." Brody winked and gave me a smile between confident and teasing. "Relax."

I peered between the palm fronds partially blocking my view. Seven of the ten closest people were on their phones, and the other three pretended it didn't bother them. "Is this the kind of place you'd take someone on a date?"

"No. I'd prefer some kind of activity. My favorite dates were going to the county fair and the beach, trying to teach a girl how to surf."

I snapped my eyes up to the full-teasing smile version. "Stop."

The candle between us flickered shadows over his dimples was too much, and I wrung my napkin as if it was soaked. Given how damp my palms were, it might've been. Saying such sweet sentiments made him so damn likable, a struggle growing more each day. "I remember the fair was a friend group activity."

I was hopeless in the surfboard lessons. Within two attempts, they became me collecting shells on the beach, including those hanging around his neck, while Brody did the surfing. "But sitting on the boards, rocking through the waves, and talking, are some of my favorite memories."

We used to do that for hours. Talking about our dreams. Venting our frustrations, mine with my health and him about his dad remarrying and having more kids. Or, just sitting in silence and enjoying not being forced to talk.

It was simple. Unlike now, where we collected curious looks, whispers, and phone searches. Where I had to smile like I was falling in love with Brody while pretending we were friends, handing him a menu with a casual brush of my hand over his for people to read more into and ignoring the giddiness shooting through me.

Replacing Allie on entertainment news wasn't on my priority list, but I struggled with where to place Brody on it. He vaulted higher the more time we spent together, especially when he leaned those thick forearms on the table and smirked.

"As I remember, I wanted to kiss you at the fair."

Freezing, I almost dropped my napkin. "You...you did?"

The matching blush spreading over his face meant he was telling the truth. "On the Ferris Wheel. I would've if you hadn't put that giant bear between us."

"I still have it," I blurted out, twisting my napkin and blushing harder.

Why did I admit that?

Leaning forward, he exuded the appearance of being interested. Until his phone chimed and he frowned.

"Bad news?"

"What's your opinion on men's bathing suits?"

Not at all what I expected he'd ask, but I inspected his phone. "Umm, mandatory unless it's a nude beach?"

Knowing I referred to the beach we'd frequented, which sounded more scandalous than the atmosphere of everyone there not caring who saw what, the smirk he gave me was everything. Sharing an inside secret made me smile.

"I got talked into this deal," he said hesitantly.

"By who?"

"My agent." He squinted at the images he flipped through. "I need to pick the three I like best, and the marketing editor will narrow it down to one. Do you mind?"

Before I answered, his phone slid before me. As he squinted and looked away, my jaw threatened to drop at the first picture.

Unfairly gorgeous, he stood at a beach with his hips pushed a little to the side, giving a shy smile and flashing a glossy set of abs. Black trunks hugged the thick, corded muscles of his thighs. The black shorts looked painted on, showing every bulge.

Every bulge.

"There's a lot of airbrushing," he mumbled, blushing.

Knowing what wasn't enhancement burned my cheeks molten. Every picture was scorching hot, but choosing a shortlist of sexiness was easy—I picked the three where he looked most relaxed. Thanking me, he relaxed into his chair.

I giggled and returned his phone. "What's your agent's end of the deal?"

His smile slipped, and I found myself wanting it back. Relaxed and carefree made him so endearing. Like I was still privileged enough to see his guard dropped. "Tracking down a couple of balls. It's stupid."

The somber defeat in his voice. Like his agent chased an impossibility. "No." I grabbed his hand. "Please tell me."

His story about how they'd been stolen during a party made me so mad. How could someone take something so important to him? And Allie brushed it off?

Thankfully, our food arrived, because I was fuming.

"Allie isn't my girlfriend," he broke our silence. "She never was."

My fork slipped and fell into my lap. Not...his girlfriend? Never?

No matter how delicious my steak smelled, I couldn't eat it. Not after this bombshell.

He, however, chewed and smiled like nothing bothered him. All I could do was stare at his throat bobbing with each swallow, the cords tightening and slacking. Two more followed with his water.

"We aren't—weren't—together," he continued as if we talked about...I didn't know what. My head was swimming. "Beyond friends, I mean."

"I'm sorry she showed up. She was supposed to be in Tahiti, for a photoshoot...with her girlfriend."

"Girlfriend? But...but..." My eyes stretched wider with each stuttered word. "Girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend."

Every calm word he said sent my heart into a frenzy. Allie was...gay?

"But...You live together?"

"Lived." His smile strained, and a guilty look lowered his gaze. "As roommates."

My stomach twitched at how deep their relationship went. It wasn't my business, but I blurted out, "Did you, I mean..." I blushed. "Do anything together?"

"Enough to prove she's not all attracted to men."

His apologetic gaze made me stiffen. Why would he feel sorry? For me, sure, but he owed me nothing while we were apart.

"Her parents disowned her when she came out."

"Disowned her? How could they?" I tipped my head and scrunched my nose. Mine were taken away, but willingly being abandoned would be a painful experience.

"She came out in college. Arguing with her parents is why she interrupted so many times. After you..." Broke us up, he didn't say. "She was confused, and I was a mess. She...stopped me from making a mistake at a party."

I leaned in so far that my stomach dented around the table. "What mistake?"

"Just some desperate cleat-chaser," he said with remorse. "We took our PDA upstairs. Allie intercepted and yelled at me for forgetting my priorities."

She...what? This was so much to process, and yet...kinda made sense, but in a too-good-to-be-true way. Moral compass and Allie didn't seem to fit in the same sentence.

"She was right. I found out later the chick was sleeping with half my teammates. Convinced one to stick with her." He shook his head, relief in his eyes. "But, Allie, both of us had to leave Stanford. I needed to make it at the pro-level and she was homeless, so we made an agreement. Fake girlfriend to shield off toxic distractions for helping her get settled into work."

Fake. The word and its aftershocks tore through me. Fake.

Even in our small town, Brody hated attention, leading to him and me having a G-rated equivalent relationship. I couldn't imagine how much more fangirling was magnified for pro athletes...but fake?

"Let me get this straight." I opened a video of them at a red carpet event, tapping my finger on Allie kissing his cheek under continuous camera flashes. "For four years, it was fake?"

A red flush spread up to his ears. "Just PR."

It was all PR? It was all PR.

My mouth couldn't close, drying my tongue, and a similar dryness stung my eyes. He'd already told me why, but it was so unbelievable.

"Why?" I demanded.

"I didn't want the distractions. Going pro, it's not a guarantee."

No, but it was more likely for someone with his talent level. I closed my mouth to keep the thought to myself because an infinite number of 'what if?' roadblocks existed. Injuries, other draft pics competing for open roster slots, and trades were possible.

"And she got, what?"

"Work. Fame. Attention. Followers." He looked away. "Sex appeal."

She was using him. Mutual use, and they'd fooled me. Attending his games, being in San Francisco's WAGs, red-carpet events, talk shows, and charity events. Four years, and it was all...fake.

Processing the word 'sex,' I hated wanting to know how intimate they'd been. They'd kissed in public and what happened in private wasn't my business, but this gorgeous, wealthy, sexy man...had been as celibate as small-town, frumpy me?

"Promise we had separate bedrooms," he admitted. "With her sharing hers with Kat Svens for the past eight months."

"Kat Svens?" The name seemed familiar, but I couldn't place it.

"Pro tennis player."

Another public figure. His hand covering mine wiped out any other curious questions.

"Problem was, Allie always said, 'Next contract. Next job. Next gig.' Finally, I realized it was the nature of her work, which wasn't her fault, but I was done. Tired of being held back from what I wanted instead of shielded from what I didn't want."

What he wanted. The words tunneled through me, driven deeper by how intensely he stared at me while I stared at the heat his hand pumped into mine. Compressed under aching pain, my heart beat a mile a minute.

Me. He really wanted me. Waited for me. Pretended he was unavailable because he couldn't have me. Being a good guy, protecting his friend's sexuality to further her career.

All of it was too much.

"Why now?" I whispered. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because I don't want anything between us. A week before the show started, I sold my place here. I'm in San Francisco for good."

Ninety minutes away. Almost the same distance between Stanford and my bakery-centered life. It already occupied fourteen hours of my days. How could he possibly think things would be different?

Tears blurred his hopeful smile, smearing his face into a collection of colors as I shook my head. "Brody, I—"

"I'm only asking for a chance."

Unable to eat, I got my meal packed up. As he finished, our conversation remained personal. I confessed Morgan's uncertainties were exhausting, and, to my disappointment, Brody revealed he'd had zero contact with his dad after leaving college.

"None?" A part of me had always hoped that the twins would bring that side of his family closer together, but it sounded like their rift had widened.

With the difficult subjects aside, the rest of our conversation flowed effortlessly. I updated Brody on small-town life, showing him photos from Vi's wedding and Xavier's name on a play cast. His suggestion to hop on a plane and see Xavi perform wasn't a joke, but I forced out a nervous laugh.

As we talked, a small group of paparazzi joined the man across the street. More lined the restaurant entrance, flashing pictures and calling Brody's name. Despite being what the producers ordered, the attention was as invasive as the questions of whether I'd replaced Allie or was just a rebound fling.

Tension seized up my spine, but Brody squeezed our interlocked fingers. I squeezed back until mine tingled. With a warm, solid pressure grounding my back, the perfect gentleman steered me into the car he'd ordered, walked me to my hotel room door, and kissed my forehead.

Straining and taking a slow breath, he lingered close. "Waiting for you is the hardest thing I've ever done."

The hope in his eyes threatened mine to fill with tears. Nothing. I'd done nothing to deserve this amazing man.

Cupping his cheek, my heart thudded louder. "Thank you for today."

"It's a lot to take in," he said the words sadly, knowing I needed time for them to sink in.

Just another thing to appreciate about him.

"I'll prove it to you though."

It was a promise. Words escaped me, and my smile wobbled. Lifting higher onto my toes, I pressed a kiss onto his cheek, the scruff on his jaw brushing my chin.

"Good night."

After he returned the words, I closed the door with a heavy sigh, my heart thudding hard enough to break through my chest.

This man. This dear, dear man made not falling for him impossible.