Page 7 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend
"The ceremony's at four, but I need to be there by one to help Mia."
"I'll come at twelve-thirty," I decide. "Bring you coffee."
She tilts her head, studying me. "You don't have to do all this, you know. The dancing, helping Gran, coffee delivery... you're being very thorough with this fake boyfriend thing."
Something about the word "fake" bothers me, but I cover it with a grin. "I told you, I'm committed to authenticity."
She's looking up at me with those warm eyes, and suddenly I'm thinking about kissing her—not as part of our act, not to prove anything to anyone, but because I want to know if she tastes as good as she smells.
I lean in slightly, testing, and her breath catches. For a moment, I think she's going to meet me halfway. But then she steps back, fumbling with her keys.
"I should get inside. Early day tomorrow."
I nod, ignoring the strange disappointment. "Of course."
She unlocks her door, then turns back. "Tucker?"
"Yeah?"
"Tonight was... nice. Really nice."
Before I can respond, she rises on her toes and presses a quick, soft kiss to my cheek, then disappears inside, the door closing firmly behind her.
I stand there for a moment, hand rising to touch the spot where her lips brushed my skin, feeling like a teenager after his first date.
What the hell is happening to me?
Chapter 3 – Amber
I've survived twelve wedding-morning emergencies before noon, including a broken zipper, a missing groomsman, and our great-aunt Gertrude insisting we're all going to hell for serving champagne before sundown. You'd think I'd be too busy for an existential crisis about my fake relationship with Whitetail Falls' most eligible bachelor.
You'd be wrong.
"Amber? Did you hear me? I need the other bobby pin."
I snap back to reality, surrounded by clouds of hairspray and nervous laughter. Mia sits before me, radiant in her half-finished updo, while I clutch a handful of pins like lifelines.
"Sorry!" I hand her stylist another pin and try to focus. The room buzzes with bridesmaids in varying states of readiness, their jewel-toned dresses hanging like autumn leaves against the ivory walls.
"Daydreaming about that brewery hunk?" Lisa, Mia's college roommate, nudges me with a knowing smirk. "God, I almost died when you walked in with him last night. When didthathappen?"
"It's... recent," I hedge, fussing with the emerald sash on my maid-of-honor dress. The rich color complements my curves, a fact I appreciate now that I have someone to look nice for… even if it's just pretend.
"Well, it's about time," pipes up Valerie, Bradley's sister. "We were all starting to think you'd never get over Cameron."
The room stills. I feel heat rush to my cheeks.
"Val," Mia warns, but Valerie just shrugs.
"What? I'm happy for her. After what Cameron did—running off with that yoga instructor right before the wedding—"
"It was a Pilates instructor," I correct automatically, then immediately regret it. "And it wasn't right before the wedding. We had six weeks to cancel everything." As if that makes it better.
Valerie gives me a look that's one part pity, two parts schadenfreude. "Anyway, it's good you've found someone. Even if it is Tucker Hughes. Don't expect him to settle down, though. That man has sampled more local flavors than his own brewery."
I open my mouth to say—what, exactly? Defend my fake boyfriend's honor? Admit this is all an elaborate charade? Thankfully, the door swings open before I can decide.
"Ladies," a deep voice drawls, "I come bearing liquid courage and caffeine."
