Page 8 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend
Tucker stands in the doorway, a cardboard tray of coffee cups in hand and a garment bag slung over his shoulder. He's devastating in a charcoal suit that fits him like it was poured on, a deep green tie that matches my dress perfectly, and that infuriating half-smile that makes my stomach flip.
"Tucker!" Mia's face lights up. "You're a lifesaver."
"I aim to please." His eyes find mine across the room, warm and amused. "Especially when it means seeing my girl all dressed up."
My girl.The possessive pronoun sends a ridiculous thrill through me.
Tucker distributes coffees with the easy charm of a man comfortable in any setting. When he finally reaches me, he hands over a cup marked "PSL with an extra shot for the most beautiful woman in the room."
"You didn't have to do this," I murmur, secretly delighted.
"Told you I would." He drops his voice, leaning close enough that I can smell his woody cologne. "Besides, I'm a man who keeps his promises."
Before I can respond, he slides an arm around my waist and drops a kiss on my temple, so naturally it takes my breath away. "Missed you this morning."
I feel Valerie's eyes burning into us and decide two can play this game. I rise on tiptoes and straighten his tie, letting my fingers linger. "You clean up nice, Hughes."
"Wait till you see what's under the suit."
I nearly choke on my coffee. "Tucker!"
He laughs, the sound rich and infectious. "I meant I brought my dancing shoes. Get your mind out of the gutter, Ms. Hill."
Heat floods my cheeks, but before I can retort, Mia's wedding planner, Abigail Robinson, sweeps in with her trademark clipboard and military precision.
"Ladies and gentleman, car service arrives in twenty minutes. Amber, I need you to wrangle the flower girl. Tucker, if you're staying, make yourself useful and help carry these bags to the car."
"Yes, ma'am," Tucker says with a mock salute that actually makes the normally unflappable Abigail crack a smile.
As he hefts several tote bags, I catch Valerie staring.
"What?" I ask, unable to help myself.
She shakes her head slowly. "Nothing. Just... he really looks at you. Like, actuallyseesyou."
I don't know what to say to that, so I busy myself with last-minute preparations, trying to ignore the warmth blooming in my chest.
A Few Hours Later
The Whitetail River sparkles in the afternoon sun, its surface dappled with fallen maple leaves in brilliant reds and golds. Abigail has transformed the riverbank into something from a fairy tale—rows of white chairs face an arbor entwined with autumn foliage and soft cream roses. Lanterns hang from nearby trees, waiting to be lit as evening falls. Guests mill about, a sea of fall colors against the backdrop of Whitetail Falls' famous covered bridge.
I stand slightly apart, clipboard in hand, checking off final details. My duties as maid of honor are nearly complete, which means I'll soon have nothing to distract me from the fact that—
"There you are."
Tucker appears beside me, two flutes of champagne in hand. He offers one to me with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. "Thought you might need this. You've been running around like a madwoman."
"Is that your subtle way of saying I look frazzled?" I accept the glass, surprised by how relieved I am to see him.
"On the contrary." His gaze travels from my carefully styled hair down to the emerald silk hugging my curves. "You look breathtaking."
The simple sincerity in his voice catches me off guard.
"Thank you," I manage. "For the compliment and for..." I gesture vaguely. "Playing along."
"My pleasure. Though I'll admit, I'm enjoying this charade more than expected."
Before I can dig into what that means, Abigail signals frantically. "Seating is starting! Amber, I need you."
