Fake Dating My Ex's Favourite Hockey Player - Chapter 69: Chapter 69

EMILIA
Evening rolls in faster than I expect, and somehow — I’m actually having fun. More than fun, even. I’m smiling. Laughing. And I don’t even have to pretend.
At some point, Liam convinced me that a walking tour was a brilliant idea. And — annoyingly — he was right.
“The scenery here is unreal,” I whisper, eyes soaking in the golden sky, the cobblestone path, the way the light hits the buildings just right. What I don’t say is that he’s half the reason everything feels beautiful.
He leans down to answer, voice close to my ear — always my right ear. Ever since I told him I’m half-deaf in my left, he’s never once stood on that side. Never had to be reminded.
“Better than wasting daylight in the shade, huh?”
“Not a chance.”
We were able to find a store to get dry clothes, thankfully my old ones weren’t exactly favourites of mine.
Actually, I think the shirt was a gift from Zane. Good riddance.
“You can never let me win, huh? If it really is such a burden, we can go back to the beach.”
I pout. “But then we’d have to walk there, too.”
“Smartass.”
I laugh, but I’m too busy staring at him to fully commit. The new outfit I picked out for him is doing way too much. Black fits him like it was made for his skin, for his frame, for the way he moves. The shirt we found was a size too small, thanks to those obnoxiously broad shoulders of his.
It clings. In the best way.
Truly, a public service.
He stretches his arms above his head, and I swear my soul leaves my body for a second.
“You’re staring,” he says, catching me mid-eyes-glued-to-his-biceps.
“You wish,” I shoot back, but my face is already hot. And he knows it.
He leans in again, smirking. “You picked out the shirt, Emilia.”
I lift my chin. “So I wouldn’t have to suffer through your terrible fashion sense.”
He grins wider, and God — it’s so unfair how pretty his smile is.
“You wound me,” he says, mock dramatically, hand over his heart. “But I’ll forgive you. Because right now? You look really happy. And beautiful. But you always look beautiful, that isn’t surprising.”
My chest squeezes. Hard.
I look away first. But not before he reaches for my hand. Not before he intertwines our fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He squeezes my hand softly, and I squeeze back, trying not to melt into the pavement.
We end up ditching the tour completely — because of course we do. But just as we turn the corner, we spot the camera crew from earlier. And they spot us, too.
Liam freezes. “Abort mission.”
“What?”
“Run.”
“What?!”
“Run!”
I’m already laughing as we bolt in the opposite direction, hand in hand, weaving between tourists and lamp posts like we’re in a romcom chase scene. He’s faster, obviously — because professional athlete — but he keeps pace with me, pulling me gently along.
We duck behind a building and he huffs out a laugh, hair a little messy, eyes sparkling. “I think we lost them.”
“Pretty sure one of them tripped over a baguette,” I say, breathless and grinning.
He throws his head back and laughs — full, real, boyish. “That’s going in the highlight reel.”
Before I can ask what highlight reel — or what that even is —, he straightens up and gestures dramatically toward the street.
“Taa-daa,” he says, like a magician unveiling his grand finale.
A horse-drawn carriage pulls up right beside us.
My jaw drops. “You did not.”
“Oh, but I did,” he says, proudly, helping me up like some kind of fairytale prince. “When in Europe, right?”
“We’re not in Europe, Liam.”
“Details, Emilia. Details.”
The rider turns around to ask something — then freezes mid-sentence.
His eyes go wide. His mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.
“You’re…” he blinks hard, stammering in accented English. It’s similar to Tessa’s when she’s mad. So Russian, I guess. “You’re Liam Calloway.”
Liam gives him a grin and a casual little salute. “That’s me.”
The rider makes a weird choking sound. “I— I love you. I mean— I love hockey. I’m a big fan of yours. You’re a legend.”
“Thanks, man,” Liam says, laughing as he hands over a tip. “I appreciate it. We’re just trying to stay undercover.”
The guy nods like he’s been given sacred instructions. “Say no more.”
As the carriage starts moving, I lean into Liam, still laughing. “You really just broke someone’s brain.”
He bumps my shoulder with his. “I do that to you all the time.”
I roll my eyes. “Please.”
But I’m smiling. And when he laces our fingers together again, I don’t let go.
With no real destination in mind, we let the rider drop us off at the edge of the woods, near a quiet little path with a wooden sign that reads: Fairy Trail – Leave a wish, take a memory.
It’s quiet here. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that makes you breathe easier without realising it.
“Should we check it out?” Liam asks, already tugging me toward the trail.
“You’re asking like you’d listen if I said no,” I mumble bitterly beneath my breath, but there’s no heart in it.
The path winds gently through tall trees and patches of wildflowers. All around us, tucked into roots and balanced on rocks, are tiny handmade fairy houses. Painted pebbles. Little notes. Popsicle stick castles. Some have glitter. Others have moss roofs.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “This is adorable.”
“It’s looks like Julie’s Pinterest board,” Liam says, crouching to examine one shaped like a mushroom. “Look — someone made this one out of a teacup.”
We wander a little deeper in, past a hollow log turned into a fairy café and a twig swing hanging from a branch. It feels like stepping into another world.
Then Liam points to a small open space beside a tree stump. “Let’s make one.”
“What, a house?”
“No,” he says seriously, “a fairy mansion. Five-star. With a pool.”
I snort. “We have no materials. And there’s barely any time left. It’s almost evening.”
“We have imagination.” He grabs a few sticks and a flat rock, then looks up at me. “Also, I’ve played a lot of Minecraft.”
I laugh, then kneel beside him and start gathering leaves, bark, and anything else that looks vaguely magical.
We work in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Every so often, he glances at me, smiling to himself like he can’t help it.
When we’re done, it’s not much — just a cozy little shelter made of bark and moss, decorated with flower petals and acorn caps. But it feels perfect.
“There,” he says proudly. “Luxury woodland living.”
A tiny notepad is tied to the tree with a string. I flip through it, reading other people’s wishes: I hope my sister gets better. I wish to marry my best friend. I hope I pass the bar exam.
Liam takes the pencil from me. “Let’s leave one.”
“What should we write?”
He pauses, then scribbles something quickly and tears the page free before I can peek.
“Hey!”
He smiles and tucks the folded note under the roof of our little house. “It’s a secret, love. You’ll find out one day.”
“Unfair.”
“To be fair, I’m extremely mysterious. I’m only trying to live up to my reputation.”
I shake my head, but I’m still smiling when he leans closer.
“You can write one too,” he murmurs. “Anything. No pressure.”
I think for a second, then write mine. Carefully. Honestly. I don’t let him see.
He doesn’t ask. He just watches me tuck it beside his.
And then he says, softly, “I like doing things like this with you.”
I blink. “What?”
“This.” He looks around. “Doing something quiet. Sweet. Just us. You’re easy to be around.”
I feel my heart do this tiny, giddy flip.
“You make it easy,” I whisper.
He brushes some hair from my cheek. “Let’s come back one day. See if it’s still here. Maybe our wishes will come true by then.”
I nod. “Promise?”
He links our pinkies together without another word.
And just like that, I know I’m already keeping mine.
“Promise.”