Page 18 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend
"Please," I say, ignoring her knowing look.
She leads us to a corner booth by the window, where golden light spills across the wooden table. "Enjoy," she says with a meaningful glance between us.
As soon as she's gone, Amber leans forward. "Is it my imagination, or is everyone staring at us?"
I glance around. She's not wrong, several tables have paused their conversations to look our way.
"Small town," I remind her with a shrug. "They're probably just surprised to see me awake before noon on a Sunday."
"Sure," she says skeptically. "Nothing to do with Whitetail Falls' most notorious bachelor having breakfast with the woman he danced with quite... intimately at last night's wedding."
"Notorious," I repeat, rolling my eyes. "You make me sound like a villain in a historical romance."
"The Scandalous Mr. Hughes," she intones dramatically. "Breaking hearts and brewing beer across the countryside."
I laugh, but there's something in her joke that hits a nerve. Is that really how she sees me? How everyone sees me?
Before I can respond, our server arrives with coffee. We order and fall into easy conversation about the wedding, her shop, my latest brewing experiment. It feels natural, like we've been doing this for years instead of hours.
"So I was thinking," I say, reaching across to tangle my fingers with hers, "maybe we could do this again. Like, regularly."
Her smile is soft. "Breakfast?"
"That. And other things." I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. "Dating things. Exclusively."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Tucker Hughes, are you asking me to go steady?"
"If we were in the 1950s, yes," I laugh, relieved by her teasing tone. "In current terms, I'm asking if you'll be my girlfriend. For real this time."
The joy that spreads across her face is answer enough, but she leans forward anyway. "Yes. Absolutely yes."
I'm about to kiss her when a shadow falls across our table.
"Tucker. What a surprise."
Callie stands there, elegant as ever in a cream sweater and tailored pants, her eyebrows arched in feigned surprise. My stomach tightens, not with longing but with irritation.
"Callie," I acknowledge coolly. "Need something?"
Her gaze shifts to Amber, dismissive and calculating. "Just saying hello. Didn't expect to see you two... so quickly after our talk."
Amber stiffens beside me. I feel her hand start to pull away from mine, but I hold firm.
"Our talk?" I repeat. "You mean when you suggested we 'catch up' and I told you I wasn't interested? That talk?"
Callie's smile tightens. "You've always had a flair for drama, Tucker. We both know this—" she gestures between Amber and me "—is just your way of proving something. She's a rebound, and everyone knows it."
I feel Amber shrink beside me, and something fierce and protective roars to life in my chest. But before I can respond, Callie continues, raising her voice just enough to ensure nearby tables can hear.
"It's sweet, really. Playing house with the local shopgirl. But we both know you're not the settling down type. It's what I always liked about you, no messy attachments."
The restaurant has gone quiet. I'm aware of eyes on us, of Amber's hand trembling slightly in mine. Suddenly, I'm furious—not just at Callie, but at myself for ever giving anyone reason to think I'm incapable of something real.
I stand, drawing myself to my full height. "You know what, Callie? You're right about one thing. I wasn't the settling downtype. But that had nothing to do with commitment issues and everything to do with not finding someone worth committing to."
I turn to Amber, whose eyes are wide and uncertain, and extend my hand. She takes it, standing beside me.
"This isn't a rebound," I continue, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. My voice softens as I look at Amber. "This is the real thing. The only thing that's mattered in a long time."
