Page 23 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

"Why not? I grew up here. I care about the island." Even as I said it, I wondered if it was true. Did I care about Lopez Island, or just about the image of caring?

Maya seemed to be wondering the same thing. "You left twenty years ago and never came back. Forgive me if I'm skeptical about your sudden environmental consciousness."

The words stung, probably because they were accurate. "People change."

"Do they?" Her light brown eyes held mine. "Or do they just get better at hiding who they really are?"

The question hit too close to home. I thought about my mother's words last Christmas—you're so careful now, like you're afraid if you let go for one second, everything will fall apart.I thought about the angry eighteen-year-old who'd destroyed this woman's grandfather's bakery and then ran away.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "Maybe both."

Maya studied me for another long moment, then nodded. "Beach cleanup on Tuesday. I'll meet you there at 6 PM."

"I'll pick you up—"

"No." Her voice was firm. "We arrive separately and happen to work together. It looks more natural than you picking me up like an actual date."

She was right, and I hated that she was thinking more strategically about this than I was. "Okay. Separate arrivals."

"What about physical contact?" The question came out slightly awkward, and I saw color rise in her cheeks. "I mean—people expect couples to touch. Hold hands. That kind of thing."

My stomach did an uncomfortable flip. I hadn't thought that far ahead, hadn't considered what "dating" would actually look like in practice. "We should probably... I mean, it would look strange if we never..."

"I'm not kissing you," Maya said flatly.

"I wasn't suggesting—"

"Good. Because that's not part of this deal." She held up her hand, ticking off fingers. "Hand-holding in public. Maybe your arm around my shoulders. That's it. Nothing more intimate than what you'd do with a friend."

"Agreed." Relief flooded through me, though I couldn't quite name what I'd been worried about. "Boundaries are good. Clear expectations."

"And no real feelings," Maya added, her voice sharp. "That was the rule last night. This is strictly business. A transaction. You help me with my legal issues; I help you with your image problem. When it's done, we end it cleanly and go back to our separate lives."

"No real feelings," I repeated, and tried to ignore the small voice in my head asking why that needed to be a rule if neither of us was at risk of developing feelings.

Maya's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then back at me. "I need to get back to the booth. Tessa can only handle the Saturday rush for so long."

"Of course." I put my phone away. "So, we're doing this? Official?"

She took a breath, and I saw her square her shoulders like she was preparing for battle. "We're doing this. One week. Fake dating. Strictly professional."

"Strictly professional," I agreed.

We walked back toward the farmers market together, and I was acutely aware of the space between us—carefully maintained, deliberately distant. This was what strictly professional looked like. Clean boundaries. Clear expectations.

So, why did it feel like I was making a mistake?

As we approached the Honey & Hearth booth, I saw Tessa watching us with undisguised interest. Other vendors were glancing our way too, conversations pausing as people noticed Maya Romano walking with the corporate lawyer from Seattle.

This was it. The performance was starting.

I reached for Maya's hand without thinking—just a casual gesture, the kind of thing boyfriends did—and felt her stiffen slightly before she let me take it. Her hand was smaller than mine, rougher from years of working with dough, warm.

"Smile," I murmured, low enough that only she could hear. "We're supposed to look happy."

"I'm trying," she muttered back, but she smiled—a small, tight expression that probably didn't fool anyone who knew her well, but would pass from a distance.

We reached the booth, and Tessa's eyes went wide. "Well, well, well," she said, her voice bright with curiosity. "This is new."