My Fake Boyfriend

The Absolute Worst Day Of My Life

Two weeks had dragged by like a bad hangover that wouldn't quit, ever since Dante decided our two-year rollercoaster of a relationship had hit its final loop and spat us out into the abyss of singledom. I mean, who tells the love of their life something as "trivial" as needing space to figure things out? Space? The only space Dante needed was probably in his closet for all those designer shirts he hoarded like a magpie with a shopping addiction.

But fine, whatever. I wasn't about to let a little heartbreak reroute my sacred coffee pilgrimage. That café down Maple Street, with worn wooden tables that never quite matched and the smell of freshly ground beans that could make a grown man cry, was mine now. Or at least, I was reclaiming it, one latte at a time.

I pushed through the door that crisp Saturday morning, the little bell above tinkling like it was mocking my resolve. The place was already buzzing with its usual crowd-laptop warriors hunched over glowing screens like they were defusing bombs, a couple of moms negotiating peace treaties with toddlers who looked like tiny caffeine-fueled tornadoes, and Gina behind the counter, who knew my order before I even opened my mouth.

"The usual?" she asked, already reaching for the cup.

I nodded. "Yeah."

I forced a smile that probably looked more like I was bracing for dental surgery than casual morning politeness.

As I waited, leaning against the counter with my phone in hand, scrolling through memes to distract myself from the hollow ache in my chest, the bell chimed again. Footsteps shuffled in, laughter bubbled up, but I kept my eyes glued to my phone. No way was I risking a glance that might summon ghosts from my past.

"Michael's caramel macchiato," Gina called out, sliding the cup across the counter with a wink. I fished out my card, paid without a word, and snatched the drink, the warmth seeping into my palms like a promise of normalcy. Time to bolt, I thought, turning on my heel with the grace of a man who'd just remembered he left the stove on.

And that's when I saw him. Dante. Sitting in our booth. The corner one with the ripped velvet, where we had our first kiss. And next to him, practically in his lap, okay not literally in his lap, I'm exaggerating, but close enough that I felt my soul leave my body, was Marcus Chen.