I had already cried enough.

But Miriam’s reunion message brought back something worse than sadness.

It brought back the girl I used to be — the girl who stared at the floor, hoping not to be noticed.

For two weeks, I ignored the invitation.

Then one evening, I looked at my reflection in the dark window above the sink and said out loud, “No.”

I was not going to hide.

Not this time.

The Worst Brilliant Idea

I don’t know what possessed me to search for “professional plus-one actor” online.

Maybe loneliness.

Maybe pride.

Maybe a little temporary insanity.

But two days later, I was sitting in a small café across from a man named Norton Grant.

He was not what I expected.

I had imagined someone slightly awkward, maybe wearing a borrowed suit, someone who would memorize a few facts about me and smile politely for three hours.

Norton walked in wearing a charcoal blazer, a white shirt, and the kind of confidence that made people turn their heads without realizing they had done it.

He was younger than me by at least fifteen years.

Ridiculously handsome.

The kind of handsome that did not look useful in real life.

I almost stood up and left.

He smiled as he sat down. “Claire?”

“Yes,” I said, already regretting everything.

“I read your request,” he said gently. “You need a date for a high school reunion.”

“A fake date,” I corrected.

“A confident companion,” he said. “Sounds better.”

I laughed despite myself.

Then he asked me why I needed one.

I could have lied. I could have said I wanted to avoid awkward questions or make my ex jealous. But something about the way Norton listened made the truth come out.

I told him about Miriam.

About Mark.

About high school.

About how one message had made me feel sixteen again.

When I finished, Norton didn’t laugh or pity me. He simply leaned back and said, “Then we’re not going there to pretend you’re somebody else.”

“We’re not?”