Wrong Person

The knock came at exactly 6:47 PM.

I knew this because I'd been staring at the clock since 6:30, running through my mental checklist for the fourteenth time. Fake boyfriend arrives. Brief him on family dynamics. Review the cover story. Maybe order Thai food because I stress-eat pad see ew and there's no shame in that.

What I hadn't planned for was opening the door to the wrong person.

The guy standing in my hallway looked nothing like his profile picture. Jamie Chen, according to the app, was supposed to be clean-cut. Professional. The headshot showed someone in a crisp button-down with the polished smile you'd expect from an accountant moonlighting as a fake boyfriend.

This person was wearing a graphic tee with a cartoon cat that read "I'm not lazy, I'm on energy-saving mode." His black hair fell across his forehead, unstyled, like he'd rolled out of bed and never looked back. He had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a backpack on the other, and he was looking at me with a confusion that suggested he wasn't expecting me either.

"Eli Washington?" he asked.

"That's me." I kept one hand on the door. "You're... Jamie?"

He winced. "Yeah, about that." He shifted his weight, the duffel bag sliding down his arm. "I think there's been a mix-up."

This was not part of the plan.

The plan had been perfect. Two weeks ago, when my sister announced her engagement and my mother immediately started asking about my love life, I'd done what any rational person would do: I'd hired a fake boyfriend from an app my coworker swore was legitimate. Clean transaction. Professional service. No emotions, no complications, no explaining to my entire extended family why I was still single at twenty-eight, why none of my relationships ever lasted, when Maya was already getting married at twenty-five.

"What sort of mix-up?" I asked, my voice coming out calmer than I felt. This was a skill I'd perfected over years of corporate meetings where everything was on fire but we all pretended we couldn't smell the smoke.

The stranger, who was apparently not Jamie Chen, ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "So. The thing is. Jamie is my twin brother."

I blinked.

"Identical twin," he added, like that clarified anything.

"Okay." I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. "And you are?"

"Jude. Jude Chen." He attempted a smile that was probably meant to be charming but came across as vaguely desperate. "Jamie runs this whole fake-dating side hustle. Has for years. It's actually pretty lucrative..."

"Not relevant to my immediate problem."

"Right. Sorry. I talk when I'm nervous." He shifted his bags again. "The thing is, I just got out of a relationship. Like, yesterday. And I needed somewhere to stay because my ex kept the apartment, and I saw Jamie's old listing and I thought it was, you know, a room for rent situation? Because the headline said 'looking for someone to share my space' and I didn't really read the details..."

"The details that specified you'd be pretending to date the person who posted it?"

Jude's face cycled through surprise, confusion, and what might have been embarrassment. "Yeah. Those details."

We stared at each other.

In the hallway behind him, Mrs. Patterson from 4C walked past with her yappy Pomeranian and gave us both a look that suggested she was already composing the story she'd tell her book club. I resisted the urge to wave.

"So let me understand this," I said slowly. "You thought you were answering an ad for a roommate. I thought I was hiring a fake boyfriend. And now you're standing in my hallway with all your worldly possessions because...?"

"Because I have literally nowhere else to go." The desperation in his voice was real now. "My ex got the apartment. Our friends were his friends first. Jamie's place is a studio and he's got a client there through next weekend, don't ask, and I just." He exhaled. "I saw this listing and I thought maybe the universe was finally cutting me a break, but apparently the universe has a really sick sense of humor."

I should have closed the door. Said sorry, can't help, good luck with everything. Gone back to figuring out how to explain to my family that I was showing up to Maya's wedding alone. Again.

But Jude Chen was looking at me with an expression that reminded me of the stray cat that used to show up on my fire escape in college, and I'd always been terrible at saying no to things that looked lost.

"My sister's wedding is next Saturday," I heard myself say. "With a family reunion for the whole week before it, because my mother believes in efficiency."

Jude nodded slowly, clearly not following.

"I need someone to pretend to be my boyfriend so my grandmother will stop suggesting I join a monastery." I paused. "She's not actually religious. She just thinks it's funny."

"Your grandmother sounds intense."

"You have no idea." I looked at his bags. At his rumpled shirt. At the general air of someone who'd had a very bad week and was trying not to fall apart. "Here's what I'm thinking. You need somewhere to stay. I need a fake boyfriend. Maybe we can help each other out."

Jude's eyebrows shot up. "You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend? We literally just met."

"I was going to hire a stranger anyway. You're just a different stranger." I stepped back, opening the door wider. "Come in. We should probably discuss terms before either of us commits to this disaster."

The apartment wasn't big enough for the chaos Jude Chen brought with him. I watched him navigate around my carefully organized living room, his duffel bag knocking into my bookshelf, his backpack brushing against the lamp I'd spent forty-five minutes positioning for optimal lighting. He was like a tornado in human form, and my apartment seemed to shrink around him.

"Nice place," he said, looking around. "Very... organized."

"I like things where I can find them."

"I can tell." He gestured at my color-coded bookshelf. "Is that alphabetized by author or title?"

"Author. Then sub-organized by genre."

"Of course it is." But he was smiling, and it transformed his whole face. Made him look younger. Less like someone whose life had just imploded.

I cleared my throat. "Sit. I'll make coffee."

The kitchen gave me a moment to think. To process the fact that instead of a professional fake boyfriend who came with references and a satisfaction guarantee, I was about to negotiate a relationship contract with a graphic designer whose ex had apparently kept everything except his graphic tees.

This was not the plan.

But maybe, a small voice in the back of my head suggested, plans were overrated.

I told that voice to shut up and finished making the coffee.

When I returned to the living room, Jude was perched on the edge of my couch like he wasn't sure he was allowed to sit back. He took the mug I offered with both hands, wrapping his fingers around it like he needed the warmth.

"So," I said, settling into the armchair across from him. "Terms."

"Right to business. I respect that." He took a sip of coffee. "What exactly would this fake boyfriend gig entail?"

"Two weeks of pretending we're a couple. There's a family reunion starting Friday, we'd drive up together. Then the wedding next Saturday. After that, we're done. You can use the couch until you find somewhere else to stay."

"The couch?" He glanced at it. "That thing doesn't look long enough for a medium-sized dog."

"It's not great," I admitted. "But it's what I have."

Jude nodded slowly, processing. "What's in it for me? Besides the world's most uncomfortable sleeping arrangement?"

"Free rent through the end of the month. That gives you four weeks to figure out your next move."

"Four weeks." He was doing math in his head. "My ex and I were together three years. He cheated on me with his CrossFit instructor." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Three years. And I found out by accident. Walked in on them in what used to be our living room."

I had nothing for that. My own relationship history was a series of clean breakups with reasonable people, nothing that dramatic. Nothing that devastating.

"I'm sorry," I said, because it seemed like the only appropriate response.

"Don't be. It was educational." He took another sip of coffee. "Turns out I'm terrible at reading people. Thought I knew him completely. Didn't know him at all."

The bitterness in his voice was familiar. Not the same situation, but the same underlying wound. The fear of trusting someone only to find out you were wrong about them the whole time.

"The deal is transactional," I said, steering us back to safer ground. "We pretend to be dating. You get somewhere to stay. My family gets off my back. No emotions, no complications."

"No emotions," Jude repeated. "Got it."

"We'll need a cover story. How we met. How long we've been together. Favorite restaurant for our first date."

"I'm a graphic designer," Jude offered. "In case that matters for the backstory."

"Marketing manager." I tapped my finger against my mug. "We could have met through work. Design client or something."

"Boring but believable." He was warming up now, settling back into the couch despite its lack of comfort. "How long have we been together?"

"Six months. Long enough to be serious, short enough that they won't expect a proposal."

"Your family expects proposals after six months?"

"My grandmother expects proposals after six minutes. We'll tell her it's been six months and pray she doesn't start measuring my finger for rings."

Jude laughed, and this time it sounded real. "Your family sounds like a lot."

"They are." I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. "But they mean well. Mostly."

We spent the next hour hammering out details. Our first date was at a Thai restaurant downtown, I picked Thai because I could actually speak intelligently about the menu, and Jude claimed he could fake enthusiasm for any cuisine. We met through a mutual friend who didn't exist. He asked me out first. I said yes after pretending to think about it for a dignified thirty seconds.

"What's your love language?" Jude asked, making notes in his phone.

"My what?"

"Love language. The way you show affection. Because if I'm supposed to be your boyfriend, I need to know how we interact. Are you a hand-holder? Do we do pet names? How much PDA is too much PDA?"

I hadn't thought about that. Hadn't thought about any of the physical aspects of maintaining this lie. The original plan, the professional service, came with guidelines for that. Approved contact. Boundaries. Written agreements.

This was just me and a stranger who wore cat shirts, trying to figure out how to touch each other convincingly.

"I'm not a huge PDA person," I said carefully. "Hand-holding is fine. Maybe. Occasionally."

"And pet names?"

"Absolutely not."

Jude grinned. "Not even 'babe'? 'Honey'? 'Snookums'?"

"Call me snookums and I will leave you at a rest stop."

"Noted." He typed something into his phone that was probably just 'snookums, rest stop death threat.'

By the time we finished, it was nearly ten. Jude's coffee had gone cold, and I'd refilled mine twice. We had a cover story. We had ground rules. We had the beginning of something that might actually work.

"So," Jude said, setting down his phone. "I guess we're doing this."

"I guess we are."

He stood, stretching in a way that made his ridiculous cat shirt ride up to reveal a strip of tan skin above his jeans. I looked away immediately.

"I should let you get some sleep," he said. "Big day tomorrow. Practicing our fake love."

"Don't call it that."

"Our completely professional, emotion-free arrangement?"

"Better."

He gathered his bags from where he'd dropped them by the door. "Bathroom?"

"Down the hall, first door on the left."

"And I'm sleeping...?"

I looked at the couch. It really wasn't big enough for a medium-sized dog. But the only alternative was my bed, and that was absolutely not happening.

"Couch," I said. "I'll get you some blankets."

"Generous." But he didn't sound bitter. If anything, he sounded relieved. Like even a terrible couch was better than wherever he'd been before.

I found blankets in the hall closet, the spare set my mother had insisted I keep for guests, though I never had guests, and piled them on the couch while Jude was in the bathroom. Added a pillow. Stepped back and surveyed my work with the critical attention of someone who organized things for a living.

It looked uncomfortable. But at least it looked intentionally uncomfortable.

When Jude emerged from the bathroom, his hair was damp and his face was scrubbed clean and he was wearing a t-shirt that said "I put the 'pro' in procrastinate." The man appeared to own nothing but terrible shirts.

"This is almost cozy," he said, looking at the blanket pile.

"It's a couch with blankets on it."

"Like I said. Almost cozy." He flopped down onto it with zero grace, and the entire structure groaned in protest. "This is going to destroy my back."

"You could always find somewhere else to stay."

"And miss out on playing your devoted boyfriend to an audience of well-meaning family members?" He pulled the blanket up to his chin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

I stood there for a moment, watching this stranger make himself at home in my carefully organized apartment. His bags were still by the door. His jacket was draped over my chair. His presence was already disrupting the flow of my space.

It should have bothered me more than it did.

"Goodnight, Jude."

"Goodnight, fake boyfriend."

I went to my bedroom and closed the door firmly behind me. Leaned against it for a moment, processing the absolute chaos of the past three hours.

The plan had been perfect. Hire a professional. Maintain control. Get through the wedding with minimal family interference.

Instead, I had Jude Chen on my couch, a cover story that was mostly fabricated on the spot, and two weeks of pretending to be in love with someone I'd just met.

This was going to be a disaster.

I was sure of it.

But somewhere underneath all the certainty, a tiny part of me was almost looking forward to finding out what kind of disaster awaited.

I ignored that part and went to bed.

I lay awake until the numbers on the clock stopped making sense.