Page 21 of The Puck Contract

I stare at her. "No one does that in real life."

"I do," Mateo pipes up, the traitor. "But only because I want to try what the other person ordered without committing to a full plate."

"See?" Sophia gestures triumphantly. "Totally natural."

Before I can protest further, Mateo is holding out his fork with a piece of chicken. "Say 'aah,'" he teases.

I roll my eyes but open my mouth, accepting the bite while Zach captures the moment for posterity and my future embarrassment.

"Great!" Sophia claps her hands. "Now let's move to the living room. Casual couple relaxation vibes."

The next hour is a blur of increasingly ridiculous poses disguised as "natural moments." Mateo and I on the couch, pretending to watch TV. Mateo reading a book while I rest my head in his lap. Both of us laughing over something on my phone.

"Now let's get some in the kitchen," Sophia directs. "Cooking together is very domestic."

"I should warn you," I say, "I'm a terrible cook."

"Me too," Mateo admits. "I once set off the dorm fire alarm making ramen."

"Perfect," Sophia says brightly. "Just pretend you're making something simple. Pancakes or whatever."

And so we find ourselves at my rarely-used stove, surrounded by hastily gathered ingredients for pancakes we have no intention of actually making.

"Do you even know how to turn this on?" Mateo whispers as we pose with mixing bowls.

"In theory," I mutter back. "I mostly use the microwave."

"Professional athlete," he teases. "Shouldn't you be all about nutrition and home-cooked meals?"

"That's what meal prep services are for," I defend. "Besides, not all of us can cook like your Italian family probably does."

"Half-Italian," he corrects. "And the cooking gene definitely skipped me. My nonna is still recovering from the trauma of watching me attempt her lasagna recipe."

The mental image of Mateo covered in flour and tomato sauce, desperately trying to impress his grandmother, makes me laugh. It's a genuine laugh, not the forced one I've been using for photos, and Zach immediately starts capturing it.

"This is great," Sophia says. "The chemistry is really coming through."

Chemistry? Is that what this is? The easy way Mateo fits into my space, the natural rhythm we've fallen into despite the artificial circumstances?

I'm saved from examining that thought too closely when Mateo accidentally turns on the wrong burner, setting a dish towel on fire.

"Shit!" I grab the flaming towel and toss it into the sink, dousing it with water while Mateo frantically opens windows to clear the smoke.

"Got it!" Zach says enthusiastically, still snapping photos. "Real couple moment!"

"Are you serious right now?" I glare at him. "We could have burned the place down!"

"But you didn't," Sophia points out. "And now we have authentic action shots."

Mateo is doubled over laughing, which is not helping my irritation. "I'm sorry," he gasps between laughs. "But your face when that towel went up—"

His laughter is infectious, and despite my best efforts, I find myself chuckling too. "I told you I don't cook for a reason."

"Clearly it's a safety issue," he agrees, wiping tears from his eyes. "For the good of the community, we should never attempt this again."

Once the smoke clears and we've established that no actual damage was done, Sophia pulls me aside while Mateo helps Zach review some of the shots.

"I've been monitoring social media mentions," she says, all business again. "That reporter, Jason Miles, has been asking questions."

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