Page 1 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend
Chapter 1 – Amber
I'm going to murder my cousin Mia with her own wedding bouquet.
Actually, no. I love her too much for that. But I am going to spill pumpkin spice latte all over her pristine white dress if she adds one more task to my already overflowing maid-of-honor plate.
"Just a tiny favor," she'd said this morning. "Could you swing by Abigail's and double-check the table arrangements? Oh, and pick up my veil from Beatrice's Bridal? You're the best, Amber!"
I mutter to myself as I hustle down Foxglove Lane, my tote bag slapping against my hip with each step, threatening to spill its contents across the cobblestones. Autumn in Whitetail Falls is usually my favorite time—crisp air, golden light filtering through flame-colored leaves, the scent of woodsmoke and cinnamon—but right now, I'm too frazzled to appreciate any of it.
My phone buzzes. Again. I juggle my extra-large latte (triple shot, because I'll need the caffeine to survive today) and dig it out.
Mia: Did you get the veil yet? And can you ask if they have any pearl hair pins? Forgot I wanted those!!
I take a deep breath, sucking in the scent of fallen leaves and distant apple cider. Count to ten. Text back a cheerful:On my way there now! Will ask about pins!followed by three heart emojis because I'm nothing if not supportive, even when I'm fantasizing about screaming into a decorative gourd.
The truth is, I'm glad to be busy.
Being Mia's wedding coordinator/therapist/personal assistant means I don't have time to think about the pitying looks I'llget tomorrow when I show up alone. Again. Six months since Cameron canceled our engagement with atextand the whole town still treats me like I'm made of spun sugar.
Poor Amber, left at the altar. (It wasn't actually the altar, but Whitetail Falls loves drama.)
I turn the corner onto Dewdrop Way, my mind spinning with wedding details, when a solid wall of man materializes directly in my path.
"Oh!"
My latte goes flying, my tote bag slips, and I stumble forward in my ankle boots. Strong hands catch my elbows, stabilizing me, but not before my drink explodes against what appears to be a very expensive brown leather jacket.
"I'm so sorry!" I gasp, mortified as I stare at the spreading stain. "I didn't see you, and I was rushing, and—"
"Don't worry about it," a deep voice says, sounding more amused than annoyed. "Though I have to say, this is an interesting way to introduce yourself."
That voice. Smooth as aged whiskey with a hint of gravel. I look up into teasing green eyes belonging to quite possibly the most attractive man I've ever collided with. Tall and broad-shouldered with artfully messy brown hair, he looks like he just stepped out of a rugged outdoor photoshoot.
"I'm really sorry about your jacket," I manage, trying to ignore how my pulse quickens when his hands don't immediately release my arms.
"A small price to pay for meeting the prettiest woman in Whitetail Falls," he says with a grin that should come with a warning label. "I'm Tucker. Tucker Hughes."
The name clicks instantly. Tucker Hughes—owner of Riverbed Brewery and Whitetail Falls' most notorious heartbreaker. I've seen him around town and heard plenty of stories, though we've never actually met.
"Amber Hill," I reply, finally stepping back and breaking contact with his warm hands. "And flattery won't clean that stain."
His eyebrows shoot up, a slow grin spreading across his face. "No, but it might get me your number."
Heat rises to my cheeks. "It might get you my dry cleaning bill," I counter, attempting to gather my scattered dignity along with the items that have tumbled from my bag. A packet of wooden name cards, Mia's wedding emergency kit, and three sparkly hair clips lie scattered between us.
Tucker crouches down to help, his broad shoulders blocking the autumn sun. "Let me give you a hand." He picks up the name cards, examining them with genuine interest. "These are beautiful. Wedding stuff?"
"Yes," I say, surprised by his perceptiveness. "My cousin's getting married tomorrow."
"Ah." He hands me the cards, his fingers brushing mine. "That explains the determined look on your face. Bridesmaid duty?"
I accept the name cards, trying not to notice how the simple contact sends a little spark up my arm. "Maid of honor, actually. Is it that obvious?"
Tucker crouches slightly, picking up a stray hairpin, and smirks. “Only to someone who’s survived enough weddings to recognize the frantic energy.” He straightens, eyes glinting with mischief. “Speaking of which… I’ll be at that same wedding tomorrow.”
I blink. “You… will be?”
“Yep,” he says, brushing a crumb off his jacket with exaggerated care.
