What A Time!

Sophia leaned back against her apartment door the moment it clicked shut, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her heels thunked to the floor first; then she padded into her tiny kitchen, flicking on the warm light over her sink.

Dinner with Eleanor Sterling — survived. Barely.

Dinner with Nathan Sterling — confusingly, dangerously enjoyable.

She caught her own reflection in the microwave door: slightly flushed cheeks, a dreamy half-smile tugging at her lips.

"Oh, get a grip, Dawson," she muttered, flipping open her phone.

Before common sense could drag her straight to bed, she FaceTimed Jazz. As expected, her best friend answered on the third ring, blurry and half-buried in pillows.

Jazz squinted. "Why are you glowing? You look like a Disney princess who just got wickedly corrupted."

"Shut up," Sophia said, laughing. She sat on her kitchen counter, wrapping one arm around her knees. "I just got home. I needed to decompress."

Jazz pushed her messy bun higher. "So? Spill. Did the scary mama eat you alive?"

Sophia let her head drop back against the cabinet. "Honestly? She was intimidating but… not evil. Very polite in a 'test-your-soul' way. Nate was actually the dangerous one."

Jazz perked up. "Dangerous how? Did he kiss you in front of her?"

"What—no! He just…" Sophia trailed off, her lips curving. "He's infuriating. And protective. And he kept touching my hand under the table like he owns me."

Jazz shrieked into her pillow. "Oh my God. You like him. You so like him."

"It's fake," Sophia reminded her — but her voice cracked on the word.

Jazz just laughed harder. "Yeah. Sure. Tell that to your face. Or your neck. You have that look, babe."

Sophia pressed a hand to her warm throat, rolling her eyes. "Good night, Jazz."

"Good night, Mrs. Sterling." Jazz cackled, blowing a kiss before hanging up.

Sophia set her phone down, still smiling, but her stomach fluttered at the new thought: Mrs. Sterling.

Fake or not, she was playing house with a man who made her forget half her rules.

Before she could spiral further, her phone buzzed again — this time with her mother's contact picture. She picked up, bracing herself.

"Hi, Mama."

"Sophie! Where have you been? I didn't see your 'home safe' text," her mother scolded in that gentle but dramatic way only moms could manage.

"I know, I know. I was out for dinner. With… someone."

A long pause. "Someone important?"

Sophia closed her eyes, grinning helplessly. "Someone very important. Listen — can I bring him for dinner this weekend? I want you to meet him properly."

"Oh? So soon? Is he serious about you? Is he respectful? Does he—"

"Mama, please," Sophia laughed. "One interrogation at a time. He's… he's good. He defended me tonight when someone tried to stir trouble. You'll like him."

Her mother melted immediately. "Well, if he makes my daughter smile like that, then yes. Saturday night. Tell him to come hungry."

"Love you."

"Love you more."

When the call ended, Sophia lingered at the kitchen counter, twirling her phone between her palms. She should leave it — let the night fade quietly — but she couldn't help it.

She opened Nate's contact, thumb hovering for a moment, then she typed:

Sophia: Brace yourself. My mom wants to grill you Saturday night. She cooks twice as good as she interrogates, so maybe you'll survive.

His reply came seconds later:

Nathan Sterling: Your mother can try her worst. I'm ungrillable.

Nathan Sterling: Also, you looked beautiful tonight.

Sophia bit her lip, fighting her giggle. She typed back:

Sophia: Flattery won't save you.

Nathan Sterling: It's not flattery if it's true.

Nathan Sterling: Goodnight, sweetheart.

She didn't trust herself to reply. Instead, she turned off the kitchen light, padded barefoot to her bedroom, and let the quiet of her apartment wrap around her — heart annoyingly loud in the silence.

This was fake. She kept telling herself that.

But it was getting harder to believe it.

By the next morning, Sophia woke up to sunlight slicing through her blinds and the low buzz of a text on her nightstand. She fumbled for her phone, half-buried in her sheets.

Nathan Sterling: When do I pick you up for your family dinner?

She smirked at her reflection. He always made it sound like an international negotiation.

She thumbed back:

Sophia: 5pm. Wear something that says 'I'm respectable but might ruin your daughter's life.'

His reply was instant.

Nathan Sterling: So, my usual wardrobe then.

She barked out a laugh, nearly dropping the dryer. Before she could reply, another message popped up:

Nathan Sterling: And what do you plan on wearing, Miss Dawson? So I can brace myself.

She leaned against the sink, cheeks warming at the mental image of him "bracing" for anything she did.

Sophia: A nun's habit. Surprise.

His typing bubbles appeared, paused, then reappeared.

Nathan Sterling: I dare you.

She rolled her eyes but her grin wouldn't quit. She fired back:

Sophia: See you at 5. Behave until then.

Nathan Sterling: No promises.

Heart still flipping over his last line, she swiped over to her chat with Jazz: Sophia: He's picking me up at 5. Pray for me.

Jazz's reply came with three voice notes of shrieking laughter. Typical.

Next, Sophia dialed her mom. She perched on her kitchen counter, twirling a piece of her hair.

"Hi, Mom. Just a quick check — Nate's picking me up at five, so we should be at the house by five-thirty. Yeah… it's fine. He's not a picky eater. Yes, I promise to tell Grandma about it. I—Mom. Mom. I have to hang up before you scare me out of this relationship."

She ended the call with a resigned laugh, dropped her head back against the cabinet and exhaled.

Five o'clock couldn't come fast enough — and yet, she wasn't sure she'd survive it when it did.

The knock on Sophia's door at exactly 4:44 p.m. made her jump. She had been pacing her living room for the past twenty minutes, mentally rehearsing every possible way this dinner could go wrong.

When she opened the door, her breath caught for a split second. Nate stood there, not just devastatingly put-together in a soft grey sweater and tailored black pants, but with his arms comically full: a bottle of wine peeking from a sleek gift bag, a neat bouquet of pale pink roses, and a wicker fruit basket cradled in his other arm like a peace offering.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Are you trying to bribe my entire bloodline?"

He raised a brow. "Strategic goodwill. Besides—" He nodded toward the roses. "First impressions matter. Wine for your dad, flowers for your mom, fruit basket for your grandma — who, by the way, I fully intend to charm."

She flushed despite herself. "Smooth, Sterling." She stepped aside, letting him in while she grabbed her purse and checked her lipstick in the hallway mirror.

"I prefer 'well-prepared'." He stepped in just enough to kiss her cheek — lingering just half a breath too long — before pulling back. "Ready to go wow the entire Dawson family?"

She rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse. "Lead the way, Mr. Sterling."

He opened her door with a flourish, placed the gifts on the back seat, then closed her in gently.

This man was going to ruin her. And she was starting to think she might let him.

The city drifted past outside her window as Nate steered the car with one hand, glancing at her every few seconds like he couldn't help himself.

Sophia shifted in her seat, folding her hands in her lap. "So… you are seriously bringing gifts to bribe my entire family? Confident move."

He hummed, eyes on the road, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Not a bribe. Strategic goodwill like I said."

She snorted. "Same thing."

His laughter was low and genuine, vibrating through the car. "What can I say? I like stacking the odds in my favor. Especially when it comes to you."

Heat flared in her cheeks. She quickly looked out the window, pretending to admire the passing shops and old brownstones.

Nate eased the car to a stop at a red light, then turned fully to her. His gaze softened, losing its teasing edge for just a heartbeat. "You okay?"

Sophia hesitated. "Yeah, it's getting a little too serious for a fake relationship "

Nate's smile softened, losing all trace of mockery, his thumb brushed the back of her hand where it rested on her knee. "Hey… it doesn't have to feel fake, Sophia. Not tonight."

He reached over, brushing his knuckles lightly along her jaw before letting his hand drop. His voice stayed low, almost careful. "I know what this is supposed to be. But for what it's worth… I like meeting the parts of you no one else gets to see."

She rolled her eyes but didn't pull her hand away. "Promise me you won't charm my grandma so much that she invites you to live with her. She's capable of that, you know."

He leaned in, voice a husky murmur. "No promises. Old ladies love me."

She laughed, tension easing. And then, too soon, they were pulling into her parents' quiet street — a tree-lined lane that smelled faintly of fresh cut grass and nostalgia.

Her childhood home stood at the end of the cul-de-sac, porch lights already on, her mother's silhouette visible through the front window fussing with something — probably the good plates she only brought out for important guests.

Nate cut the engine, twisted to face her. "Last chance to run away with me and skip this."

She barked a laugh, heart hammering with affection and nerves. "Shut up and bring the gifts, Casanova."

He reached into the back seat, carefully gathering the wine, flowers, and fruit basket, then got out and rounded to her side.

As she stepped onto the curb, he dipped his head close, lips brushing her temple. "Relax, Soph. They're going to love me."

She let out a shaky exhale. "God help me if they do."

Hand in hand — him juggling the presents with casual ease — they walked up the front steps together. She could already hear her grandma's laughter mixing with the faint sound of the TV inside.

Sophia squeezed his hand once before pushing open the door. Showtime.