“Would You Pretend To Be My Husband?” She Asked… And I Asked, “Do I Get To Kiss My Wife?”

I knew the name.

Not because Hannah had told me everything, but because diners are bad at keeping secrets. Alex had once sat in my booth with her and talked over her for forty-five minutes. He wore expensive shoes, checked his reflection in the spoon, and corrected the way she pronounced “bruschetta” even though he was wrong.

Gloria, I’d never met.

But I knew the type from Hannah’s face.

“She’s beautiful,” Hannah said quietly. “Rich. Works in marketing. Always looks like she stepped out of a magazine ad for people who say ‘summer’ as a verb.”