Technically, Dylan hadn’t been lying about anything. Not yet, because of course he would be lying once the plan went into effect. Anyway, when he told Katelyn and Jessica that he’d go to Kansas City for the promise of food and heating he wasn’t exactly lying. He’d been making it through the nights with excessive layering--sweatpants tucked into socks under pajama pants tucked into thicker socks, a t-shirt layered under a long sleeved shirt layered under a sweater, all worn with gloves and a knit cap. He had been sleeping beneath every sheet and blanket in his apartment. And his eating had been abysmal since he’d moved out of his dad’s house. Aside from what he ate at the diner, most of his meals came from cans. Canned peaches for breakfast. Canned tomato soup for lunch. Canned ravioli for dinner. Canned cream corn. Canned peas. Canned everything. When he splurged, he’d get himself frozen, breaded fish sticks or frozen corn dogs. If his dad ever found out, he’d probably insist on Dylan moving home.

Anyway, spending Christmas someplace warm, eating something other than a can of anything, would be a relief. But he had probably misled them because, really, he wanted to go along with their insane impostor boyfriend plan just because he liked being around Katelyn. His genuine hope was that, if he agreed to be her fake boyfriend, he might have a shot at becoming her actual friend.

It was a pretty terrible idea, though. He didn’t know anything about Katelyn’s ex-boyfriend. Dylan had seen Katelyn’s ex-boyfriend come into the diner once or twice, but Dylan had never bothered to introduce himself. The guy hadn’t seemed all that likable. Katelyn mentioned that he was an investment banker. Dylan wasn’t comforted by this bit of information because he didn’t really know anything about investment banking.

After a couple restless hours of something like sleep, Dylan got up way too early and way too anxious on the morning of December 20th. He decided to try to quell his nerves with research. He didn’t have internet in his apartment, so he headed over to the coffee shop next door and ordered the cheapest thing they had there--a small, unadorned coffee--as an excuse to hang out and bum off their internet. He preferred it when his coffee tasted like candy bars, but made do pouring in creamer, a few spoonfuls of sugar, and a pinch of cocoa powder. It was still too bitter for his liking.

At first, he just did a basic search for investment banking, but after reading a couple of articles, all he really learned about investment banking was that it was hella boring. He considered trying to commit a few key phrases to memory--capitals, derivatives, equity, and the like--but his eyes were starting to glaze over. He was clearly too disinterested for any real retention to take place. Eventually, he decided to head back to his apartment, but by that point he’d wasted too much time on fruitless research and was running late.

Dylan barely had time to brush his teeth and toss some things into a travel bag before there was a knock at his door. Katelyn Eubanks was wearing a gray coat that hit around her knees, a pair of dark jeans, and tall, brown boots. Her hair was twisted together in two long ropes, Anne of Green Gables style. Dylan fought the urge to gently tug on one of them. He chastised himself for the impulse. She wore a white cap pulled over her ears and a pair of matching gloves. In each hand, she held a Starbucks cup.

“French Vanilla?” she asked, nodding to her left hand, and then she nodded at her right and said, “Or Gingerbread?”

“Um,” Dylan paused. He would have liked to ask for the gingerbread, it sounded both sweet and festive. But he had also overheard Katelyn swooning over holiday drinks to Jessica a few nights before. He remembered her saying something like, “Jess, you don’t even understand. I love Christmas so much. I wish everything looked and smelled and tasted like Christmas all the time. And that, my dear Jessica, is why this is the best drink in the world.”

“French Vanilla,” he said. Her face fell, just a bit, and he thought it was strange because he’d assumed she would want the gingerbread.

“Okay,” she said, “here’s the thing: I really didn’t think anyone would choose French Vanilla over Gingerbread because, honestly, French Vanilla is soooo boring. And Gingerbread is GINGERBREAD, DYLAN. So I thought you would go for the gingerbread latte and I, of course, didn’t want to get stuck with a lame French Vanilla latte. So, I got two gingerbread lattes. But I thought it might seem kind of thoughtless of me if I just assumed that you would like what I like, you know? So I wanted to make it seem that I was giving you options. But I was also banking on you picking gingerbread and, you know, not ever finding out that I n--”

“Okay, that’s cool,” Dylan interrupted with a laugh. “I only picked French Vanilla because I assumed you would want the Gingerbread. So this is actually better.”

He took one of the drinks from her hand and smiled down at her. Her cheeks tinged pink. Dylan reminded himself that her blush might just be a result of the total lack of warmth in his apartment. She glanced down at her feet and said, “You’re just saying that. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m really not. I mean, I totally would have just said that to be nice, but I promise that I’m not. Thank you, this is seriously so nice of you.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she laughed, rolling her eyes. She smiled up at him and her smile was so soft and sweet that for a second he was knocked entirely off kilter. He almost kissed her, but he caught himself and just swallowed instead. Then, he spent the entire first hour of their drive silently berating himself because he was only pretending to be her boyfriend, and it was way too early in their rouse for him to start falling for it, too.

The silence must have been driving Katelyn crazy, though, because eventually she said something just for the sake of saying something. “Sorry, it’s such a long drive. Do you want to man the radio?”

“Sure,” Dylan replied. He reached out towards the radio, but then he just let his hand hoover nearby, thinking. “Actually, maybe you should tell me a bit about the guy I’m pretending to be.”

“Oh, right,” Katelyn laughed. There was a slightly nervous wobble to her smile. “So, I mean, like I said, my parents have never actually met him, and I’m not overly share-y, so, it’s not like they really know anything about him anyway. I’m pretty sure they just know that his name is Jason. And maybe that he’s an investment banker? And I think, when pressed, I mentioned that he was really into exercise and that we went to an Italian restaurant for our first date. So, like, as long as you don’t say you hate Italian food or whatever, we can probably just pretend whatever is true about you is true for him and they won’t know the difference.”

Dylan was relieved; if he didn’t have to worry about messing up facts about this guy, Katelyn’s plan seemed a lot more doable. Dylan relaxed a bit. Then, he frowned, and clarified, “He’s really into exercise?”

He wasn’t sure why this surprised him. The guy he’d seen pick Katelyn up from work a few days before had been built like he belonged on a football field. Still, he was a little bit surprised. He just had a hard time imagining Katelyn dating someone who was really into exercise.

“Oh my gosh, Dylan, you don’t even understand,” Katelyn said, her tone somewhere between a laugh and a rant. “He isn’t just into exercise. He, like, thinks it’s a hobby. If you ask him what he’s into, he’ll talk about weight training. Or crossfit. And, like, I get it, right? Some people like to run or bike or whatever. People enjoy working it out. Fine. But nobody ever wants to hear about people working out. Right? I’m not crazy here am I?”

Dylan laughed, and then he had a terrible thought and clarified, “Wait, are they going to expect me to, like, go to the gym or something?”

Dylan was pretty sure he couldn’t even bench press a magazine.

“Oh, no, surely not,” she said emphatically. “It’s the holidays. Even exercise people take the holidays off, right?”

“Yeah, surely,” he agreed. They lapsed back into silence and, this time, Dylan was one thousand times more uncomfortable because he had turned to face her. Now, they were not talking and he was just...staring...at her.

“Oh!” She said suddenly. “You should tell me about, like, you. Catch me up to speed. What would I have learned in two months of dating?”