Mr. Denver: The Version You Didn't Hear

Chapter 11

“This park is really beautiful,” she said, eyes scanning the tree-lined path ahead. Her voice was softer than usual. Unhurried. It caught me off guard.

“I used to come here with my parents,” I replied before I could stop myself.

She turned to me. “I’m sorry.”

I gave a small nod. “It was a good memory, at least.” And it was, but memories have sharp edges when you’re not expecting them.

“So,” she asked, brushing hair from her cheek, “what do you want to talk about?”

I sighed. “How are we going to make this work? Our grandparents aren’t stupid. One wrong move and they’ll smell the act from a mile away.”

She stopped walking and turned to face me. “We can be lovey-dovey. Adults can fake sweetness just as well as kids fake innocence. We keep the charade going for a year—or two—and then get divorced. No drama, no heartbreak.”

Her tone was so nonchalant, so emotionally removed, I almost laughed. It was the most logical, least romantic pitch for marriage I’d ever heard.

“Act lovey-dovey?” I echoed. She didn’t even hesitate, just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist.

“You need to hug me back,” she said like it was a line rehearsal. I hesitated, then obeyed. My hands landed on her back instinctively, and suddenly she pulled away.

“Easy,” she said with a shrug. Then she grabbed my hand, slid her fingers between mine, and started walking.

“Holding hands.” She smiled up at me like it was a teaching moment. I was still trying to figure out how we’d gone from confusion to a couples’ improv class in thirty seconds flat. We sat on a nearby bench, and she gestured like a director setting the scene.

“Arm around me.” I obeyed again, this time a little less mechanically. Her head leaned onto my chest. It was just a practice run, right? Then she looked up, and her lips pressed lightly against mine.

It was supposed to be a peck, but it wasn’t.

When I kissed her back, it wasn’t out of obligation.

It was instinct.

Her lips were warm, familiar in a way that didn’t make sense—and when I cupped her face to deepen the kiss, everything else disappeared. The trees. The wind. The fact that we were supposed to be pretending. I pulled back, breathless. I could feel her staring, waiting for an explanation.

“See? It’s easy, right?” she said quickly, breaking the tension with forced nonchalance. I nodded, even though nothing about what I was feeling was easy. She started to stand.

“So, we’re sharing a room. Are we also having sex?” I asked, half-joking, half… not.

She laughed. “They’re not going to check the bedroom, Jacob.”

I rolled my eyes, but then she kept going. “Besides, why would you want to have sex with me? I’ve got straight A’s and a flat bottom.” My eyes instinctively dropped.

“Hey! My eyes are up here.”

I looked up, caught red-handed. “You’re weird,” I muttered.

“Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, smug.

“You’ll do fine with the acting,” I said. “Maybe too fine.” Before I could finish the thought, she leaned in and kissed me again. Harder this time. It was unexpected. Sudden and electric. Then the skies opened.

Rain.

She grabbed my hand and we bolted, laughing like idiots through the downpour. We reached a tree, but the rain was relentless. I pulled off my jacket and held it over her, shielding her as best I could.

“I told you it would rain,” she said, smirking up at me.

“Cafe?” I asked and she nodded. We sprinted again, soaked and breathless, and collapsed into a small café by the corner. We ordered lattes. Sat by the window. Dripped onto the floor and didn’t care.

“Dako—I mean, Catherine,” I said. Damn, still not used to it.

“It’s fine,” she said, wiping water from her brow.

“I’m sorry about Brad. If I’d known it was you...”

“How long were you planning to fool me?” she asked, eyes narrow.

“Until you hated him and backed out, honestly.” She raised a brow but didn’t argue. Instead, she got up to grab our drinks.

She handed me mine. “Thanks,” I muttered. She started blowing on hers to cool it, and I studied her again. Rain-soaked hair, tank top clinging to her, unfiltered Catherine.

“Are you really moving the company to LA?”

He shook his head. “No. My grandpa wants me to. But I love New York.”

“So what now?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I was trying to figure out.”

“I don’t want you moving your company just for an act,” she said quietly.

“That’s why I’m asking if you’re serious about this.” She paused.

“We should think again,” she murmured. Then she caught me staring. Her tank top was soaked through.

“Eyes up, Jacob.”

I looked away, then smirked. “We’ll need a better plan.”

“I have one.”

“What’s that?”

“Pretend harder.” She rolled her eyes, sipping her coffee, muttering under her breath—“Pervert.” I smiled. Because suddenly? The act didn’t feel so fake anymore.