Chapter 4: The Agreement

Maggie couldn’t breathe.

The moment stretched between them, heavy and sharp-edged, thick with something she couldn’t name but could feel deep in her chest.

Oliver just stared at her, his expression unreadable—except for the flicker of something dark beneath it.

“You,” he said finally, voice low, almost stunned. “It was you.”

Maggie swallowed hard.

“Looks that way.”

Oliver exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

“So what?” His voice was tight, controlled. “You were just—out there, looking for someone else?”

The accusation hit like a slap.

Maggie’s shock cracked into something hotter.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she shot back.

Oliver let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah, except I wasn’t the one who signed up for this.”

Maggie flinched.

And just like that, the reality of the situation sank in.

She had come here tonight expecting to meet a stranger.

Expecting to feel something again—excitement, curiosity, connection.

And instead, she had walked straight into the arms of the man she had been slowly drifting away from for years.

It felt like the worst kind of joke.

Oliver was still watching her, jaw tight.

“How long?” he asked, voice edged with something rough.

“How long what?” Maggie asked, arms crossing defensively.

“How long have you been doing this?”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Excuse me?”

“Talking to other men,” Oliver said, gesturing vaguely. “Going behind my back. Was it just this one? Or are there others?”

Maggie felt anger snap through her like a spark to dry kindling.

“Are you serious? You think I’m just—what? Collecting strangers online? Looking for an affair?”

“I don’t know, Maggie. Should I?” Oliver shot back.

“I didn’t even sign up for this!” she snapped.

Oliver blinked. “What?”

Maggie let out a bitter laugh. “Gina did. She made the account without telling me.”

Oliver’s expression faltered—just a fraction.

“Gina,” he repeated.

“Yes, Gina. Because she thinks I’ve been shrinking. Because she thinks—” Maggie stopped herself before the words spilled out.

But it was too late.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “She thinks what?”

Maggie looked away. She had already said too much.

“Forget it,” she muttered.

“No, say it,” Oliver pressed. “She thinks what, Maggie?”

Maggie exhaled sharply. “She thinks you’ve made me small.”

The words landed between them like a gunshot.

For the first time, Oliver didn’t have a quick comeback.

Instead, he looked at her like she was someone he didn’t quite recognize.

“That’s what you think?” he asked, voice quieter now.

Maggie pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to answer that.

Because the truth was…

She didn’t know.

She used to be loud and bold and restless.

And now she was someone who had let her dreams sit in a folder on her laptop, waiting for the right time that never came.

Maybe it wasn’t Oliver who had made her small.

Maybe she had just shrunk herself.

Maggie’s shoulders dropped slightly. “I don’t know, Oliver.”

For a long moment, they just stood there.

The Realization That Neither of Them Started This

Oliver ran a hand over his face.

“This is insane,” he muttered. “You’re telling me you didn’t even want to be on that site?”

Maggie let out a breath. “No, I didn’t.”

“Then why did you answer the messages?”

Maggie looked at him then. “Why did you?”

Oliver hesitated.

Maggie crossed her arms. “Exactly.”

Oliver exhaled and leaned against the bar, shaking his head.

“Jake showed me the post,” he admitted.

“Jake?”

“Yeah. He thought it sounded like me.”

Maggie let out a bark of disbelief. “Let me get this straight. Gina signs me up, Jake finds my post, and somehow, we both end up here?”

Oliver almost laughed.

Because when she said it like that…

It sounded ridiculous.

Slowly, Maggie shook her head, something inexplicable pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“This is the stupidest thing that has ever happened to us,” she muttered.

Oliver let out a begrudging chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

For the first time that night, something in the tension broke.

Maggie looked at him. Really looked at him.

And Oliver looked back.

Somewhere beneath the frustration, beneath the sharp words and old wounds…

Something softened.

Something familiar.

Something they had lost but hadn’t quite forgotten.

A connection.

A history.

A chance.

“You two done blaming each other?”

They both turned, startled, as Lupe leaned against the bar, watching them with an amused expression.

“Because I’d really hate to waste a perfectly good cocktail on a couple that plans on walking out that door.”

Maggie and Oliver exchanged a look.

“You still think this is a joke?” Maggie asked.

Lupe shrugged. “I think you came here looking for something. And now you’re realizing you already had it—you just forgot how to see it.”

Oliver frowned. “That’s not—” He stopped himself.

Because wasn’t that exactly what had happened?

Lupe slid the ruby-colored cocktail toward them.

“One week,” she said.

Maggie stared at the drink.

“One week for what?” she asked, wary.

“To find out if you’re still in love. Or if it’s time to walk away for good.”

The words landed heavier than expected.

Oliver let out a slow breath.

“What if we don’t want to play your game?” he asked.

Lupe smirked. “Then why are you still here?”

Neither of them answered.

Because neither of them were leaving.

Not yet.

Lupe tilted her head. “One week. No past. No future. Just now. The only rule? You try.”

Maggie felt her stomach twist.

Oliver’s jaw tightened.

But neither of them looked away from each other.

Because neither of them wanted to be the first to walk out the door.

Maggie inhaled deeply.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she picked up the cocktail.

Oliver’s lips twitched.

Then, after a long pause, he grabbed the second glass Lupe placed on the bar.

“Fine,” Maggie said.

“Fine,” Oliver echoed.

And just like that—

The challenge began.

Chapter 5: The Rules of the Game

An Uneasy Start

The weight of what they had just agreed to settled between them like a loaded gun on the table.

One week.

No past. No future. Just now.

Maggie wasn’t sure what that even meant.

Oliver didn’t know why he hadn’t walked out.

Neither of them reached for their drinks right away.

Instead, they just stood there, staring at each other as if seeing one another for the first time in years.

Finally, Maggie exhaled and shook her head. “This is ridiculous.”

Oliver snorted. “Agreed.”

They should both walk away right now. Go home. Forget this ever happened.

But neither of them moved.

Because walking away meant admitting something had been broken in the first place.

And neither of them wanted to be the one to say it out loud.

The First Rule: No Talking About the Past

“So, ground rules,” Maggie said, crossing her arms.

Oliver raised an eyebrow. “There are rules?”

“There have to be. Otherwise, we’re just two people standing in a bar making things more awkward than they already are.”

Oliver exhaled. “Fine. What’s rule number one?”

Maggie hesitated.

“No talking about the past,” she said finally.

Oliver blinked. “That seems convenient.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that ignoring the past is how we got here in the first place.”

Maggie clenched her jaw. “That’s not—” She exhaled sharply. “You know what? Fine. If you want to spend the next week hashing out every fight, every disappointment, every time we missed each other, be my guest. But that’s not going to fix anything.”

Oliver studied her for a moment.

Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Fine. No past.”

Maggie straightened. “Good.”

The Second Rule: No Fighting

“Next rule,” Oliver said.

“No fighting.”

Oliver let out a short laugh. “Okay, but that one’s impossible.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes.

“We fight over everything, Mags.”

“Exactly. That’s the problem.”

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck.

He wasn’t sure if avoiding fights was actually better—or if it was just another way of avoiding their problems.

But they were already in uncharted territory.

Maybe breaking old patterns was part of the point.

“Fine. No fighting,” he muttered.

Maggie tilted her head. “And no passive-aggressive jabs either.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “You’re asking for a miracle.”

Maggie lifted her glass. “Then start praying.”

The Third Rule: No Half-Measures

There was a long silence between them before Oliver finally spoke again.

“One more rule.”

Maggie looked at him expectantly.

Oliver tapped his fingers against the counter.

“We actually try.”

Maggie frowned.

“Try what?”

“To see if this works,” Oliver said simply.

Maggie opened her mouth, then closed it.

Because this was different.

The first two rules were about avoidance.

But this?

This was a choice.

A choice to do more than just go through the motions.

A choice to put something real on the table.

Maggie swallowed.

“What does ‘trying’ even look like?” she asked quietly.

Oliver shrugged. “I don’t know. But if we’re not actually going to do this, what’s the point?”

Maggie stared at him, a strange twist of emotions knotting in her chest.

When was the last time she had seen him look at her like that?

Not frustrated. Not tired. Not distracted.

But… intentional.

Like he actually wanted something from her.

Slowly, she nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “We try.”

And just like that—

The rules were set.

Old Chemistry, New Distance

The first few minutes after their agreement felt strange.

There was no script for something like this.

No clear way to navigate a marriage in limbo.

“So,” Oliver finally said, shifting slightly. “Now what?”

Maggie glanced around the bar. “I guess… we order a drink?”

Oliver gave her a look. “You realize we already have drinks.”

They both looked down at the untouched cocktails Lupe had slid across the counter.

Maggie smirked. “Oh. Right.”

She picked hers up and took a slow sip.

It was dangerously good.

Oliver watched her for a moment before finally lifting his own glass.

“Well then,” he muttered, tipping his drink toward her. “To trying.”

Maggie hesitated for just a second—

Then clinked her glass against his.

“To trying.”

For the first time in a long time, they had made a decision together.

And neither of them had backed out.

Awkwardness Slipping Into Something Familiar

The first fifteen minutes were painfully awkward.

They made stiff conversation about things that didn’t matter.

“How’s work?”

“Fine. You?”

“Same.”

Small talk had never felt so forced.

But then—something shifted.

Maybe it was the cocktail, warm and rich, loosening their guarded edges.

Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation, finally catching up to them.

But at some point, Maggie made a snarky remark about Oliver’s terrible taste in music—

And he smirked.

“You still holding onto that grudge?” he asked.

“You played Nickelback at our wedding, Oliver. It was a crime against love.”

Oliver laughed.

An actual laugh.

And Maggie felt something small but real uncoil in her chest.

Because for a brief second—

It felt like them.

Like the version of them that had existed before life had gotten in the way.

Oliver shook his head, still smirking. “I can’t believe that’s the hill you want to die on.”

“I have a list,” Maggie deadpanned. “The wedding music is just at the top.”

Oliver grinned.

“Maybe I should hear the rest.”

“You couldn’t handle it.”

He leaned back, still watching her with that familiar look in his eye—the one that used to make her melt without realizing it.

“Try me,” he said.

And just like that—the distance between them felt a little smaller.

The Week Begins

For now, things felt okay.

They had their rules.

They had a reason to stay.

But a week was a long time—

And neither of them had any idea what would happen next.

The one thing they did know?

They weren’t ready to walk away.

Not yet.

And for now—that was enough.

Chapter 6: The First Night of the Challenge

Old Habits Die Hard

Leaving Lupe’s Hideaway together felt unnatural.

Not because they hadn’t done it a thousand times before—leaving places as a couple, side by side, slipping into the same car, driving toward the same home.

But because tonight, everything felt different.

There were rules now.

There were stakes.

There was a choice.

For the first time in a long time, they weren’t just moving through their lives by default.

They were deciding to be here.

Maggie felt it in the way her breath slowed, in the way Oliver’s shoulder hovered a little closer than it had in months.

Not touching.

But almost.

And almost was dangerous.

The Car Ride—Silence and Something Else

Oliver drove.

Maggie sat beside him.

Neither of them spoke at first.

The radio hummed softly, filling the air between them, but not quite enough to cover the weight of everything unsaid.

“That wasn’t awful,” Oliver muttered eventually.

Maggie glanced at him. “The challenge or the cocktail?”

Oliver smirked. “Both.”

Maggie almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, she stared out the window, watching streetlights pass in blurs of gold.

It was strange, sitting here in the quiet, knowing they had just stepped into something uncharted.

Knowing that for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just co-existing.

They were choosing to exist together.

It was terrifying.

It was also… something else.

Something she wasn’t quite ready to name.

The House Still Felt Like a Home

When they pulled into the driveway, neither of them moved at first.

The porch light cast a soft, familiar glow over the front door.

Maggie exhaled.

“So… now what?” she asked softly.

Oliver hesitated.

“We go inside.”

Maggie almost rolled her eyes. “Brilliant. Thanks for the insight.”

Oliver smirked but didn’t look at her.

“We go inside,” he repeated, voice quieter this time. “And we try.”

There it was again.

That word.

It shouldn’t have meant anything.

But tonight, it did.

Maggie nodded, gripping the handle. “Okay.”

They stepped inside together.

And just like that—the first night of the challenge began.

Slipping Into Familiar Patterns… Almost

For the most part, the evening felt ordinary.

Oliver took off his shoes by the door.

Maggie set her purse on the counter.

They moved through the house the way they always did—habitually, effortlessly.

But the air was different.

Thicker.

Charged.

They weren’t ignoring each other.

They weren’t filling the silence with empty conversations.

They were just… aware.

Of each other.

Of the space between them.

Of the fact that tonight, for the first time in too long, they were actually choosing to be present.

Maggie made tea.

Oliver flipped through the mail.

It was domestic.

It was normal.

And yet, it felt like the most significant thing in the world.

The Smallest of Moments, The Softest of Touches

Maggie reached for a mug at the same time Oliver turned toward the cabinet.

Their hands brushed.

It was barely a touch.

Just fingertips grazing.

But it was enough.

The air shifted.

Time slowed.

Maggie froze, breath catching slightly, her fingers hovering near his.

She should have pulled away.

Oliver should have moved first.

Neither of them did.

Not right away.

Because for the first time in longer than she could remember, Maggie felt something other than distance.

She felt warmth.

She felt the quiet, dangerous reminder that this man—this person she had spent years loving, resenting, missing, and losing—was still right here.

Oliver swallowed, his gaze flicking to hers for a second too long.

Then—just like that—it was over.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

Maggie took a breath, forcing herself to step back.

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t.

It wasn’t fine at all.

It was terrifying.

And maybe, just maybe—it was hope.

Sleeping Under the Same Roof, But in Different Worlds

That night, they both went to bed in separate rooms.

Neither of them had suggested it.

It had just… happened.

Maggie sat on the edge of the guest bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the way her chest felt tight and light all at once.

She wasn’t sure if this challenge would fix them.

She wasn’t sure if they even could be fixed.

But tonight, for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t just drowning in the distance.

She was floating in something new.

Something uncertain.

Something she almost wanted to reach for.

In the next room, Oliver exhaled softly.

He hadn’t expected tonight to feel like this.

He had expected awkwardness. Resentment. Stiffness.

He hadn’t expected to feel like he was on the edge of something.

Like maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the end.

He closed his eyes.

The week had just begun.