Page 34 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

My heart was pounding. We were standing on a Friday Harbor street corner, other people walking past, going about their normal lives. But I felt like we were completely alone.

"This is starting to feel less fake," I whispered.

Ethan's jaw tightened. "I know."

"We said no real feelings. That was the rule."

"I know," he repeated, and his hand came up to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone with heartbreaking gentleness. "But I'm starting to think that rule was stupid."

I leaned into his touch without meaning to, my eyes closing. This was dangerous. This was breaking every boundary we'd established. This was—

“I should get back to the bakery. I love Tessa, but I don’t trust her alone in there for any length of time. I’ll see you at the beach cleanup.” I turned and walked away from him before he could respond.

The fake dating arrangement had become very, very real.

And I had no idea what to do about it.

Chapter eleven

Falling First

Ethan

The beach cleanup started at 6 PM, which gave me exactly enough time to drive back from Friday Harbor, change out of my court suit into jeans and a t-shirt, and make it to the community beach before Maya arrived.

I spotted her immediately when she pulled into the small parking lot—hard not to, since half the island was already there, and they all turned to watch Maya Romano climb out of her bakery van wearing work jeans and a faded Lopez Island Conservation t-shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail.

She looked tired. Beautiful, but tired.

I walked over, two pairs of work gloves in hand. "Hey."

"Hey." She took the gloves I offered with a small smile. "You came."

"I said I would." I gestured to the growing crowd of volunteers, recognizing faces from the community meeting—Emily Russell from the bookstore, the couple who ran the island grocery, at least a dozen others. "Though I'm pretty sure everyone here is going to be watching us."

"Let them watch." Maya pulled on the gloves, her jaw set with determination. "We're supposed to be dating, right? Might as well commit to the performance."

The word performance stung more than it should have. Because what happened on that Friday Harbor street corner—the way she'd leaned into my touch, the look in her eyes when she said our relationship was feeling less fake—that hadn't felt like a performance.

Richard Sterling stood at the front of the group, clipboard in hand, directing volunteers to different sections of the beach. When he saw Maya and me standing together, something shifted in his expression—approval, maybe, or understanding.

"Maya, Ethan—you two take the north section near the tide pools," Richard called out. "Watch the footing. Rocks get slippery this time of year."

We grabbed trash bags and headed north along the beach, other volunteers spreading out in different directions. The sun was low on the horizon, turning the water gold, casting long shadows across the sand. It was an evening that belonged in a postcard; beauty that made people fall in love with islands.

Or fall in love, period.

“I’ve never done a beach cleanup before—did Richard give us the worst task as revenge, or one of the easy ones as an apology for what he said to you?”

“Tide pools can get a little gnarly, so it could be a very passive-aggressive revenge scheme. Plus, it’d save him some work if we slipped on the rocks and perished.”

I laughed as I struggled to keep up with her on the uneven terrain. “I’m sorry again about him. He’s a good guy, but he was way out of line."

"He was being honest. Most people do see me as the emotional baker who doesn't understand business." She pulled a tangle of rope from between two rocks. "My own mother thinks I wasted my education by coming back here. My ex thought I was playing house. Even the island council questioned whether I was too young to handle the Sweetheart Week vendor contract."

I stopped walking, turning to face her. "Then they're all wrong."

“I don’t know.” She met my eyes, and I saw the vulnerability she usually kept hidden behind her plans and resolve. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm just stubborn. If I'm fighting for this bakery because it's the right choice or because I'm too proud to admit defeat."