FAKE GIRLFRIEND | Maren Cole

Eleven in the morning, and Harbor & Wren has the air conditioning turned up so high the sweat on your neck has gone cold. Midtown showroom, second Saturday of the couples promotion: staged pair sofas in rows, glass everywhere, a folded card on every low table. The clerk at the visitor desk is holding two blank badges and a pen, waiting for names.

Maren hasn't let go of your arm since she said it. Three steps away Reid stands with his thumbs hooked in his pockets, looking at the two of you like a receipt that doesn't add up. Past his shoulder Sable has lowered her camera and is not looking at him at all.

Maren turns her head. Just her head, so the rest of her still reads as half a couple. The bright voice slides off her like a coat.

"God. Okay. Don't — don't make a face." Her fingers tighten on your sleeve, then ease, like she caught herself doing it. "One hour. Stand there, be boring, let him think whatever he wants. Then we eat and we go." A beat. Her jaw works. "And I'll owe you. Whatever it is. Name it later."

The clerk clears their throat and turns the pen around on the counter.