Page 38 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

"He survived, though, didn’t he?”

"For six months. In and out of the hospital but it was long enough to teach me everything about running the bakery. Long enough to tell me it was mine now, that I should make it my own." I slid the tarts into the oven, setting the timer. "Long enough for him to make me promise I wouldn't give up on it, even when things got hard."

"And your ex?” Ethan's voice was careful. "When does he fit into this?"

I leaned against the counter, surprised he remembered. "I dated Blake for two years while I was in Seattle. He was a sous chef at a different restaurant—ambitious, talented, sure that fine dining was the only thing that mattered. When I told him I was leaving Canlis to run my grandfather's bakery, he said I waswasting my education. That I was playing dress up instead of building a real career."

"He was wrong," Ethan said, his tone furious.

“I mean, I I gave up Portugal early. I left Canlis at the peak of my career. I turned down offers from restaurants in New York, San Francisco, Portland. All to come back to a small island and make bread in a bakery that barely broke even. I can understand why he would think I was crazy. Why most people think I’m crazy when I tell them my story. ”

"Most people are idiots." He reached up, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped my braid behind my ear. The gesture was gentle, intimate. “Anyone who can't see how extraordinary you are—your mother, Blake, Richard, Marcus, anyone else questioned your choices—they don't deserve your doubt."

I leaned into his touch without meaning to, my eyes closing. "This is getting complicated."

"I know."

I opened my eyes, finding him watching me with an expression that made my heart race. We were standing in my bakery kitchen, surrounded by the smell of baking pastéis de nata, the early morning light streaming through the windows. Outside, the island was waking up—I could hear cars passing, the distant sound of the ferry horn.

But in here, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.

"Ethan," I whispered. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know." His voice was raw, honest. "But I'm tired of pretending this is fake."

He leaned in, and I knew—absolutely knew—that if I let this happen, if I let him kiss me, everything would change. The arrangement would be over. The boundaries would be destroyed. We'd be in completely uncharted territory with no idea how to navigate it.

And I wanted it anyway.

I tilted my face up, my eyes closing, my breath catching—

His phone rang.

We froze, inches apart, the shrill sound shattering the moment like glass.

Ethan pulled back, his jaw clenching with frustration. He pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen. His expression shifting to grimness.

"It's Richard," he said. "I have to take this."

"Of course." I stepped away, putting professional distance between us, trying to slow my racing heart.

Ethan answered. "Richard, what's wrong?"

I couldn't hear Richard's response, but I watched Ethan's face go carefully blank, hiding whatever he was feeling.

"When?" Ethan asked. His voice was controlled, but I heard the tension underneath. "How did they—" He paused, listening. "No, that's... okay. Yes. I understand. We'll be there in an hour."

He hung up, staring at his phone for a long moment before meeting my eyes.

"What happened?" I asked, though I already knew it was bad.

"The judge received the motion to dismiss. She's scheduled an emergency hearing for this afternoon at 2 PM in Friday Harbor." Ethan ran his hand through his hair. "Gerald Hutchins's lawyers filed a counter-motion this morning, claiming we're making frivolous allegations of fraud without sufficient evidence. They're pushing to have our motion dismissed and proceed with the original property dispute."

My stomach dropped. "Can they do that?"

"It's aggressive and unusual, but it's legal." He looked at me, and I saw determination in his blue eyes. "The judge wants both sides to present their case today. In person. Which means we need to be in Friday Harbor by 2 PM with every piece of evidence we have."

"Today?" I glanced at the clock—6:45 AM. "But I have orders to fill, deliveries to make, and I don’t know if Tessa—“