Page 21 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

I watched her finish the sale—warm smile, genuine laugh, the easy rapport of someone who knew her customers by name. This was Maya Romano's world. These were her people.

And I was about to ask her to pretend I belonged in it.

I approached the booth at exactly 10 AM, as we'd agreed. Maya saw me coming, and something shifted in her expression—the warmth cooling into professional courtesy, her shoulders squaring slightly like she was preparing for battle.

"Good morning," I said, keeping my voice casual. "Those pastéis de nata look incredible."

"They're fresh this morning." Maya's tone was pleasant but distant, the voice she'd use with any customer. "Would you like to try one?"

"Please."

She plated one of the Portuguese custard tarts, handing it to me across the table. Our fingers didn't touch—she made sure of that.

I took a bite, and the flavor exploded across my tongue. Crispy pastry, creamy custard, the perfect hint of cinnamon. It was exactly how I remembered them from twenty years ago, except better. More refined. Professional.

"This is amazing," I said honestly. "Is this your great-great-grandfather's recipe?"

"Modified." Maya's eyes flicked to me, assessing whether I was genuinely interested or just performing. "I spent about a year in Portugal studying traditional methods. This combines his original recipe with techniques from Pastéis de Belém."

"The birthplace of pastéis de nata."

"You know your pastry history." She sounded surprised.

"I did some research last night." I kept my voice low, aware of the other customers browsing nearby. "About you. About the bakery. If we're going to do this, I need to know what I'm representing."

Maya's jaw tightened. "I'm not something you represent. I'm someone you're temporarily pretending to date."

"Poor word choice. I apologize." I finished the tart, savoring the last bite. "Can we talk? Somewhere more private?"

She glanced at her booth, clearly calculating whether she could leave. A woman I recognized from the community meeting—Tessa, with purple-tipped hair and bright green eyes—appeared from behind the stall.

"I've got this," Tessa said, her gaze moving between Maya and me with undisguised curiosity. "Take your time."

Maya looked like she wanted to argue, but instead she just nodded. "Ten minutes."

We walked to a quieter section of the market, near a small gazebo overlooking the water. The morning sun made the ocean sparkle, boats bobbing peacefully in the harbor. It was picturesque in a way that made me uncomfortable—too perfect, too much like the postcard version of Lopez Island I'd been trying to forget.

"So," Maya said, crossing her arms. "You wanted to talk. Talk."

I pulled out my phone, opening the notes I'd made at 2 AM when sleep wouldn't come. "If we're going to make this believable, we need to be strategic about it. People need to see us together in the right contexts, at the right times. We need a story that makes sense."

"A story." Maya's voice was flat. "You mean a lie."

"I mean a narrative. How we reconnected. Why we're together. What we're doing." I looked up from my phone. "People are going to ask questions. We need consistent answers."

She studied me for a long moment, and I could see her mind working through scenarios, calculating risks.

"Fine," she said finally. "What's our story?"

"We say we ran into each other in Seattle. Richard told me you went to school there. We met at a coffee shop near Pike Place, a few weeks before I came out to the island for the assignment." I kept my voice level, professional. "You were there for a culinary supplier meeting, I was grabbing coffee before work. We started talking, realized we were both connected to Lopez Island—you own the bakery, I mentioned I'd be out here soon for a work trip. Exchanged numbers, kept talking, one thing led to another."

"That's convenient. Almost too convenient."

"That's the point. It's boring and ordinary enough that no one questions it. Coffee shop meet-cutes happen every day. Nobody's going to dig into the timeline of a chance encounter over espresso. Besides, everyone already knows we both lived there.” I shrugged.

"Fair point." Maya's mouth quirked, almost a smile. "So the official version is: attractive stranger, coffee shop, charming small talk, discovering we had the island in common."

"Exactly. And the fact that I was so upset the other night at the town hall meeting was to throw people off. Nothing to verify, nothing to trip over, nothing that connects back to Richard's office or the actual reason you're here." I met her eyes. "It's a story people won't ask follow-up questions about. That's really all a good cover story needs to be."