Page 78 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

"Then I go to Seattle for however long that takes. Testify, face cross-examination about my ethical failures, probably get eviscerated by defense attorneys." He said it so casually I almost laughed. "But I come home after. Every time. This is home now."

I stood, pulling him up with me. "I know this isn't the perfect—"

"Stop apologizing for not being perfect." I moved closer, my hands framing his face. "I don't want perfect. Perfect is boring. I want real. I want someone who fights for what matters even when it costs everything. I want you, Ethan. Messy and complicated and uncertain as this all is."

He kissed me then—deep and certain and full of promise. Not the desperate kisses from before, all fear and uncertainty. This was different. This was commitment. This was choosing each other despite the universe actively working against us.

"I'm exhausted," he admitted when we finally broke apart. "I've been awake for approximately seventy-two hours and my brain is refusing to form coherent thoughts."

"Then stop thinking. Come to bed. We can panic about the future tomorrow."

We fell asleep tangled together in my bed, Ethan's breathing evening out almost immediately, his arm heavy and warm across my waist. I lay awake a little longer, processing everything we'd decided.

It wasn't a fairy tale. It was messy and uncertain and built on foundations that might still crumble under legal pressure.

But it was real. It was ours. And it was worth fighting for.

Saturday morning, I woke to the smell of coffee and found Ethan in my kitchen, making breakfast with the confidence of someone who'd decided this was his home now and was claiming territory.

"Morning," he said, sliding a plate of perfectly cooked eggs and toast across the counter. "I hope you don't mind. I figured out where everything was and made myself useful. Apparently three years of living on takeout didn't completely destroy my ability to cook basic breakfast foods."

"You're making me breakfast at 7 AM after getting maybe three hours of sleep. I definitely don't mind." I grabbed the coffee he'd already poured. "What time do you have to call the prosecutor?"

"Ten. Grand jury session starts at eleven." He sat beside me, our knees touching in that casual intimacy of people who'd decided to build a life together. "But until then, I'm all yours. What happens at Honey & Hearth on Sweetheart Week Saturday?"

"Chaos. Tourists everywhere, special orders for hotels, special event at the farmers market." I took a bite of eggs. "You don't have to come help. You could sleep, or decompress, or—"

"I want to." He smiled. "Besides, what else am I going to do? Sit here refreshing legal blogs and spiraling about my impending professional doom? I'd rather learn how to make heart-shaped pastries and pretend my life isn't falling apart."

So we went to the bakery together, falling into an easy rhythm—Ethan helping Tessa with customers while I focused on production, the three of us working together like we'd done this for years instead of weeks.

Islanders who came in noticed him, welcomed him back, asked how long he was staying.

"Permanently," Ethan said, and I heard the certainty in his voice. "This is home now."

Emily Russell actually teared up when she heard him say it. "Good. We need more people who'll fight for this community instead of just profiting from it."

At 10 AM, Ethan stepped outside to call Jennifer Walsh. I watched through the window as he paced, nodding, taking notes. The conversation lasted fifteen minutes.

When he came back inside, his expression was complicated—satisfaction mixed with apprehension and what looked like mild nausea.

"The grand jury indicted," he said quietly. "All charges. Fraud, conspiracy, extortion, falsification of documents. The prosecutor is filing charges Monday morning. Arrests happen Tuesday."

"That's good, right?" Tessa asked, reading his tone.

"It's justice. It's what should happen." Ethan sat heavily on a stool. "But it's also going to be incredibly public. Media coverage, legal analysis, my entire career dissected by people who've never met me. The spotlight I've been dreading is about to become a floodlight."

I moved behind him, my hands on his shoulders. "And we face it together. You don't have to carry this alone anymore."

My phone rang. Richard Sterling.

I answered on speaker. "Richard?"

"Maya, Ethan—I have news. The state bar reached out this morning." His voice was carefully controlled. "They're requesting that Ethan appear for Wednesday's interview with legal representation present. That's unusual. It suggests they're moving from investigation to formal disciplinary proceedings."

"Formal proceedings meaning what, exactly?" I asked, already knowing I wouldn't like the answer.

"Meaning they've made a preliminary determination that ethical violations occurred, and now they're proceeding to the punishment phase." Richard paused. "But there's something else. Judge Morrison filed a statement with the state bar yesterday. A detailed account of the Lopez Island fraud case, the evidence Ethan presented, and her professional opinion that his disclosure was instrumentally important in protecting a local business and exposing criminal fraud."