Page 5 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend
"Yes, thank you." Mia shakes my hand automatically, still staring. "I didn't know you two were—"
"It's new," Amber says quickly, her voice higher than usual. "Very new. Tucker and I ran into each other yesterday."
I slide my arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "Quite literally. She spilled coffee all over me."
Mia's eyes widen. "Is this why you were late with my veil?"
"I helped her with the errands," I say, enjoying the way Amber blushes. "Least I could do after blocking the sidewalk."
"Well." Mia looks between us, a slow smile spreading across her face. "This is... unexpected. But wonderful! Tucker, you have to meet Bradley, and his parents, and—oh, there's so much to do. Dinner's about to start."
She whisks us toward the main table, keeping up a steady stream of chatter. I feel Amber relax slightly against me, falling into step.
"You're good at this," she murmurs.
"I told you," I reply, my lips close to her ear. "I'm very committed to authenticity."
The next hour passes in a blur of introductions, wedding talk, and surprisingly good catered food. I find myself genuinely enjoying the evening, especially watching Amber.
She's in her element here—warm, thoughtful, making sure everyone has what they need. But I also catch the moments when she thinks no one is watching, the brief flashes of weariness behind her smile.
After dinner, the band starts playing, a smooth jazz number that has several couples moving to the small dance floor set up near the fountain.
"Dance with me," I say, standing and offering my hand.
Amber looks up, surprised. "Now?"
"No better time." I keep my hand extended. "Unless you're afraid."
Her eyes narrow at the challenge. "Of dancing with you? Hardly."
She places her hand in mine, and I lead her to the dance floor, aware of the eyes following us. This was supposed to be a show, part of our charade, but as I pull her into my arms, something shifts.
She fits against me perfectly, her curves soft where I'm hard, her head at just the right height to tuck under my chin. I catch the scent of her hair, floral and warm, as we begin to sway.
"I didn't know brewery owners could dance," she teases, but her voice is a touch breathless.
"I contain multitudes." I spin her gently, then draw her back. "My mother insisted all three of her sons learn. Said it was an essential life skill."
"Smart woman." Amber's hand rests lightly on my shoulder, her touch warm even through my shirt. "Is she here in Whitetail Falls?"
"Florida now. She and my dad retired there last year." I adjust my hand at her waist, drawing her imperceptibly closer. "Do your parents live nearby?"
A shadow crosses her face. "They passed away when I was in college. Car accident."
"I'm sorry," I say, meaning it.
She nods, a small, practiced movement. "It was a long time ago. My grandmother raised me anyway, they traveled a lot for work. She's still here, just over on Willow Street."
The music shifts to something slower, more intimate. Around us, other couples adjust, moving closer together. Without overthinking it, I draw her nearer, until there's barely space between us.
"Is this okay?" I murmur.
She nods, her eyes meeting mine. "For authenticity, right?"
"Right." The word feels hollow.
We dance in silence for a moment, and I find myself studying her, the slight furrow between her brows when she concentrates, the way her lips curve up at the corners even in repose, as if smiling is her default state.
