Page 27 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

The question surprised me. "You want to help make croissants?"

"I want to learn what you do. If I'm going to convince people I care about you and this bakery, I should probably understand what happens here." He paused. "Unless you'd rather I just sit in the corner and look decorative."

Despite myself, I smiled. "You can wash your hands and help with the laminating. Do you remember anything from twenty years ago?"

"I remember that Manuel was very particular about technique." Ethan moved to the sink, rolling up his sleeves. "And that everything had to be done at the right temperature or it wouldn't work."

"Good memory." I gestured to the dough. "Croissants are all about layers—butter, dough, butter, dough. The laminating process creates the flaky texture. It requires precision and patience."

"Two things I'm actually good at."

We worked in silence for a few minutes, falling into a rhythm. Ethan followed my instructions carefully; his movements deliberate and controlled. Lawyer hands, I thought—used to signing documents and typing briefs, now carefully folding butter into dough.

Ethan's hands stilled in the dough. "I need to tell you something."

"What?"

“Of course I remembered you. You had a crush on me. Back then.” His voice remained quiet, each word carefully measured. “I want you to know I never mistook it for anything but what it was—a fourteen-year-old's admiration for someone your grandfather had decided to save. Who happened to be a very good-looking eighteen year-old. I was too consumed by my own anger that whole year to really register it at the time. But looking back now, I remember it, and I never want you to think I didn't take your grandfather's trust seriously.”

He looked down at the dough beneath his hands.

“So when I say I should have said goodbye properly—that's not about you. That's about me being too ashamed of what I'd done to face either of you honestly before I left.”

The confession settled between us, heavy and difficult to absorb.

“You left because you were ashamed.”

“Yes.” He shook his head. “Because staying meant being, for the rest of my life, on this island, the boy who'd broken your grandfather's windows. I wasn't running from either of you. I was running from who I'd been. I just didn't know how to separate the two back then.” His hands resumed their slow, steady rhythm, but he still wouldn't meet my eyes.

“You weren’t even that good-looking. And I'm not fourteen anymore," I said quietly.

"I know." He finally looked up, his blue eyes meeting mine. "But that doesn't change the fact that I should have said goodbye. That I should have thanked your grandfather properly. That I should have—"

My phone buzzed violently on the counter, the sound harsh in the quiet kitchen. I glanced at the screen and felt my blood go cold.

An email from Gerald Hutchins, my neighbor. Subject line: "Final Offer—Sale Must Close by February 28th."

I opened it with shaking hands.

Ms. Romano,

My investors have accelerated their timeline. They require building possession by the end of Sweetheart Week (March 8) to move forward with development plans. I'm authorized to offer $450,000 for immediate sale—20% above market value. This is a limited-time offer that expires in seven days.

If you decline, the property dispute will proceed to litigation, and I'm confident the court will rule in my favor regarding theeasement. You'll lose access to your parking area and delivery access, making business operations impossible.

This is your best option. Take it.

—Gerald Hutchins

I read it twice, then handed the phone to Ethan without a word.

He scanned the email, his jaw clenching tighter with each line. "When is Sweetheart Week?"

"It's the island's biggest tourism event. Runs February 28 through March 8. Every business competes for vendor contracts, special events, it's..." My voice trailed off as the implications hit me. "It's in less than three weeks. And I was just approved for the main vendor contract."

"They want your building before you can capitalize on the revenue." Ethan's voice was cold, professional. "They're timing this to maximize your vulnerability."

"Can they do that? Just... accelerate the timeline?"