The whole "dating app" thing was supposed to be easy.
At least that's what I told myself after spending the last year coding, refining, and marketing LoveSync—the app that lets you find compatibility without the whole "chemistry" thing mucking it all up. No emotions, no strings, no awkward first dates. Just swipe right if you like, swipe left if you don't. Simple, right?
So, naturally, my life is falling apart in the worst possible way: my own app is crashing, and I'm standing at the airport with my childhood nemesis, Eli Hastings, in a scene so ridiculous it could only happen in a rom-com. Except this is real life. And it's my life. So, I guess it's a horror-com.
Eli Hastings. The guy who once beat me in the third-grade spelling bee by one letter. The guy who once told me I was "way too smart to be fun" at my best friend's birthday party—while he was holding the punch bowl.
And here we are, standing next to the baggage claim carousel, awkwardly staring at each other like two stray cats who got stuck in a rainstorm.
"Still a genius," he says, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. His smile is small, polite, and all kinds of infuriating.
I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"
"LoveSync," he gestures vaguely at my phone in my hand. "You're that Cleo Marshall, right? The one who thinks love can be coded?"
"Thanks for the reminder," I say, making a show of checking my watch. "I was hoping you were just a random stranger, but, of course, fate is a cruel mistress."
Eli laughs, and I instantly regret that I've missed hearing it. Damn him.
"You're still bitter," he says. "Not surprised."
"Who wouldn't be after losing a spelling bee to a guy who thought 'rhythmic' had a silent 'p'?"
"At least I won."
"Yeah, well, you were a terrible loser. Still are."
We stare at each other for a long beat, the silence stretching like a bad date. This is my childhood nemesis, and I'm 99% sure I could give him a list of reasons why I never wanted to see his stupid face again, but hey, that's all in the past, right? Except he's standing here, and I'm about to make the worst decision of my life: agree to go to a wedding with him.
"Right, about that," he starts. "I've got a little situation."
I glance over at the terminal screens to avoid his gaze. "You still owe me twenty bucks for that burger at the diner when we were fourteen."
"I'm pretty sure you got way more out of me over the years. Like the time you convinced me to drink that mystery punch at Karen's party? Remember that?"
I roll my eyes. "That's still not twenty bucks, Eli."
"Fine, fine," he laughs. "But here's the thing: my sister's wedding is next weekend, and I need a plus-one."
I blink at him, trying to piece this together. "Uh… didn't you just break up with your fiancée like five minutes ago?"
He runs a hand through his dark hair and sighs dramatically. "Yeah, well, she's going to be there. And I need a date. So, since you clearly don't have anyone to go with…"
"Nope," I say quickly. "I'm fine. I'll just stay home, binge-watch some crime dramas and cry into my oatmeal."
Eli tilts his head. "Are you serious? You really want to stay home alone while the entire town judges you for being the only one without a date at a wedding?"
I raise an eyebrow. "I'm an expert in being judged. It's an art form at this point."
"Right." He smirks. "So, you'll go with me. Great."
I shake my head. "You don't know what you're asking."
"Oh, I know. And I'm offering you an opportunity you can't refuse."
I narrow my eyes. "What's that?"
"I'm offering you a chance to make me look good. Fake date me, Cleo."
A beat passes.
"What?" I say, choking on my coffee.
"I need a serious fake girlfriend for this wedding," Eli repeats. "Pretend we're a couple so that my ex—who's the maid of honor—doesn't think I'm still pining over her. You're perfect for this. No strings. Just you, me, and a wedding cake."
"Wow, that's…" I stare at him, considering his offer. "Desperate. And weirdly tempting."
I know what you're thinking. Why would I, Cleo Marshall, who has spent years building a dating app based on the premise of "don't catch feelings," agree to such an ill-conceived plan?
Simple: Eli Hastings was always the guy I'd never want to be around. Now, he's asking me to pretend to be in love with him. My heart races at the absurdity of it all.
"Fine," I say, finally. "But it's on my terms. First, no PDA. Second, I'm not really your girlfriend. And third, you have to stay out of my personal space. Got it?"
His smile widens. "Got it. You're gonna make a great fake girlfriend, Cleo."
And just like that, I'm tangled up in this mess. I've never been good at saying no, but this is definitely a bad idea. And yet, the idea of getting under Eli's skin—without any real romantic stakes—is oddly... enticing.
The next thing I know, we're walking side by side toward the parking lot. Eli hands me a coffee, and I'm about to take a sip when I hear a voice behind us.
"Eli?"
It's her. His ex. And she's walking right toward us. Her smile freezes when she sees me standing next to him.
Great. The wedding hasn't even started, and already, I'm being thrown into this fake-relationship mess. Eli looks at me, his smile gone, replaced by a nervous tension.
"Cleo," he says, his voice dropping. "Meet Heather."
I take a deep breath. "Great," I say, turning to face him. "This just got interesting."