Page 2 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend
I can't help but laugh as I tuck the items back into my tote. "I'm on a million last-minute errands right now."
Tucker stands, offering me a hand up that I probably don't need but take anyway. His palm is warm and callused, his grip secure.
"Careful," he says, steadying me. "Though I wouldn't mind catching you again."
"I bet you wouldn't." I straighten my burgundy sweater dress, suddenly aware of how it hugs my curves. I'm not model-slim by any stretch, but something in his appreciative gaze makes me feel surprisingly confident.
"So," Tucker says, making a half-hearted attempt to wipe the latte from his jacket, "you own Autumn's Embrace, right? The boutique on Dewdrop Way?"
I blink in surprise. "How did you know that?"
"Small town." He shrugs. "Plus, my brewery's just a few doors down from you. I've walked by your window displays enough to be impressed. Never worked up the courage to go in, though."
"Afraid of a few cozy sweaters?" I tease.
"Terrified," he confirms with mock seriousness. "I might look terrible in burnt orange."
I find myself smiling again. "I don't know about that. With your coloring, you could probably pull it off."
"Is that professional fashion advice?" His eyes twinkle. "Maybe I'll have to stop in sometime."
"You'd be welcome," I say, then glance at my watch and wince. "Oh no. I'm running really behind."
"More wedding missions?"
I nod, adjusting my tote bag. "I need to pick up the veil, confirm the flowers, check on the table settings, and somehow squeeze in time to pick up my own dress from the cleaner's before they close."
"Sounds like you need backup," Tucker says. He seems to hesitate for a moment, then gestures to his stained jacket. "I owe you a coffee, and you owe me... well, a cleaner jacket. Want to combine forces? I've got my truck parked just over there. I could be your wedding errand chauffeur for an hour."
My first instinct is to politely decline. I barely know this man, despite his local reputation. But something in his expression seems genuine, and the thought of walking all over town with my heavy tote is less than appealing.
"That's... actually really nice of you to offer. But I'm sure you have better things to do than shuttle me around for wedding errands."
He looks at his watch. "I was heading to check on a delivery at the brewery, but it can wait an hour. Consider it my good deed for the day."
I narrow my eyes. "Is this how Tucker Hughes usually picks up women? Offering chauffeur services?"
He laughs, the sound rich and warm. "First time trying this particular technique, I promise. How am I doing?"
"I haven't decided yet." I tap my chin thoughtfully. "But I am desperate and running late..."
"That's the spirit. Lead with desperation—it's very flattering."
I roll my eyes but find myself smiling again. "Fine. But just the veil shop and maybe the florist. I wouldn't want to take advantage of your generosity."
"Take all the advantage you want," he says with a wink that somehow manages to be both outrageous and charming. "My truck's this way."
As we walk toward Acorn Circle, I sneak a glance at him. "So, Tucker Hughes. I've heard stories about you."
"All true, especially the good ones." He grins. "And what have you heard, exactly?"
"That you brew the best craft beer in three counties. That you once won a charity bachelor auction for an obscene amount of money. And that you've broken more hearts in Whitetail Falls than anyone else under fourty."
"Hmm." He pretends to consider this. "The beer part is accurate, the bachelor auction was for my nephew's medical bills, and the heartbreaker reputation is..." He pauses. "Let's just say small towns love their labels."
Something in his tone makes me look at him more carefully.
"Speaking of the wedding," he says, smoothly changing the subject as we reach a vintage blue pickup truck that's been lovingly restored, "anyone special accompanying you to this shindig tomorrow?"
