Chapter 3 — Meeting the Actor

Amelia

The Corner Café smelled like cinnamon, old books, and faint regret—an intoxicating mix for someone in the middle of a personal crisis. I sat at a rickety table with a chipped mug of lukewarm coffee, scrolling through Instagram for what felt like the fiftieth time that morning. Every swipe brought a fresh wave of torment: memes of me at the altar, frozen mid-tear, next to captions like *“When the Wi-Fi cuts out during your wedding vows”* and *“She’s giving main character energy... but it’s a tragedy.”*

I slammed my phone face-down on the table, the screen thankfully spared from a crack by some miracle, and pressed my palms against my eyes. My chest tightened as the laughter of strangers echoed in my mind. Were they laughing at me? Laughing because I was the punchline? The idea churned in my stomach, dredging up the fear I’d been trying to suppress—the fear that maybe Ethan’s decision to leave wasn’t just a reflection of him, but of me.

The café’s indie playlist crooned softly in the background, and the hum of conversation swirled around me, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the relentless loop of self-pity running through my head. What I needed was a Plan. Capital P. Something bold, brilliant, and big enough to wipe the slate clean—or at least distract the internet until someone else’s life fell apart in a more entertaining way.

But as I stared at the cracked ceramic of my coffee mug, inspiration refused to strike.

The café bustled with its usual eclectic crowd—students hunched over laptops, couples murmuring over pastries, and a guy in the corner sketching furiously in a Moleskine. The space felt cozy, lived-in, a little chaotic. Nothing like the pristine, curated bubble of my life—or at least, the life I used to have.

And then, I heard him.

“Wait, wait—let me try that again. ‘You think you’ve won, but the game isn’t over. Not until I say it is.’ Too much? Ugh, too much.”

The voice was deep, smooth, and laced with a self-deprecating frustration that made me pause. My gaze flicked toward the source, and there he was: a man sitting two tables away, scribbling furiously into a battered leather notebook.

He was handsome in a way that felt almost accidental—sandy blonde hair that flopped into his eyes, a scruffy beard he probably forgot to trim, and warm blue eyes that darted between his notebook and the world around him. His flannel shirt was rumpled, his jeans frayed at the hem, and yet he had an effortless charm that made him stand out among the café’s usual crowd of polished creatives.

I should’ve looked away. I should’ve gone back to my coffee and my scrolling. Instead, I found myself leaning back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other, and raising an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned that you’re plotting someone’s demise over there, or is this just a really intense journaling session?”

The man looked up, startled, and blinked at me. For a split second, he seemed completely thrown off balance—wide-eyed, vulnerable, like he hadn’t expected to be noticed. Then, a slow grin spread across his face, and the vulnerability melted into something playful and magnetic.

“Depends,” he said, closing the notebook with a theatrical snap. “Do you think journaling sessions usually involve world domination speeches?”

“Only the good ones.” I tilted my head, letting the corner of my mouth quirk up in what I hoped was a charmingly sarcastic smile.

He chuckled, low and warm, and leaned back in his chair. “For the record, I’m rehearsing. Audition monologue. You know, the glamorous life of an out-of-work actor.”

“Ah,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “And here I thought you were planning to take over the world. Disappointing.”

“Hey, who says I can’t do both?” He gestured dramatically, as if envisioning his name in lights. “Ryan Carter: Actor, Evil Overlord, Winner of the Most Creative Use of a Monologue Award.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “Ambitious. But if you’re so good at acting, why are you stuck rehearsing in a café instead of, I don’t know, starring in a blockbuster?”

Ryan shrugged, his grin faltering just slightly. “Life’s funny like that. You put in the work, you do the auditions, and sometimes you still don’t get the part. But hey, at least I’ve got free Wi-Fi and mediocre coffee to keep me going.”

His self-deprecating humor struck a chord. There was something refreshingly honest about his demeanor—no pretense, no posturing, just a man trying to make the best of a less-than-ideal situation.

And then, it hit me.

This man—this charming, struggling actor with zero ties to my life—could be the answer to my problem.

I began to study him more closely, the gears in my mind clicking into place. His charisma was undeniable, his presence magnetic in a way that could disarm anyone. He could sell anything—even the idea of being madly in love with someone like me.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Ryan, was it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. And you are...?”

“Amelia,” I said, extending a hand. His grip was firm but not overbearing, his hand warm against mine. “Amelia Grant.”

“Nice to meet you, Amelia Grant,” he said, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, what’s your deal? You seem a little too put-together to be slumming it in a place like this.”

“Let’s just say I’m between life plans at the moment,” I said, keeping my tone light. My heart thudded in my chest as I considered what I was about to suggest. “But I might have a proposition for you.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “A proposition? This sounds intriguing.”

“Don’t get too excited,” I said, though my mind was already racing. “It’s not a job offer—not exactly. More like... an acting gig. Short-term. High stakes. Potentially life-ruining if we screw it up.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Go on.”

I hesitated, glancing around the café to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Then, lowering my voice, I said, “Have you heard of the name Ethan Cole?”

Ryan’s brow furrowed. “Sounds vaguely familiar. Why?”

“He’s my ex-fiancé,” I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. “The one who left me at the altar. And thanks to a viral video, the entire internet knows about it.”

Ryan winced. “Ouch. That’s rough.”

“Tell me about it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Anyway, I need to fix my image. Fast. And that’s where you come in.”

He tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his expression. “I’m listening.”

“I need someone to play the role of my new boyfriend,” I said, keeping my tone as businesslike as possible. “Someone charming, photogenic, and willing to fake a whirlwind romance for the sake of social media. Think of it as a performance—like a long, elaborate audition. Except instead of impressing casting directors, we’ll be impressing my ex and, more importantly, the entire internet.”

Ryan stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he broke into a grin.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, leaning forward. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend so you can make your ex jealous and redeem yourself in the eyes of... Twitter?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous,” I said, scowling.

“It *is* ridiculous,” he said, laughing. “But... it’s also kind of genius.”

I blinked. “Wait. Really?”

“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “I mean, it’s not exactly a Shakespearean tragedy, but it sounds fun. And hey, I could use the money.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Who said anything about money?”

“Oh, come on,” Ryan said, his grin widening. “You don’t expect me to do this out of the goodness of my heart, do you? I’m an actor, not a saint.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Fine. We’ll talk numbers later. But you’ll do it?”

He extended a hand, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Amelia Grant.”

As I shook his hand, a strange mix of excitement and terror settled in my chest. This plan was insane—completely, utterly insane.

But for the first time in weeks, I felt like I was back in control.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.