Page 86 of Faking it with my Bad Boy Crush

"I know. That's why it's romantic." I pulled back, wiping my eyes with the back of my flour-dusted hand, which probably didnothing good for my complexion but felt appropriately dramatic. "This is officially the best thing anyone has ever done for me, and I once had a man propose using a hot air balloon."

"Wait, what?"

"Long story, didn't say yes, not relevant right now." I waved it off. "Focus. You just legally bulletproofed my grandfather's bakery. I need a minute."

"Take all the minutes you need. I have approximately four more documents for you to review, including one that establishes a community advisory board so this can never happen to any Lopez Island business again without triggering immediate legal scrutiny."

"You built protection for theentire island?"

"I had a lot of free time between ethics violations."

I laughed—really laughed, the kind that came from somewhere deep and slightly hysterical after six weeks of nonstop crisis. "You're insane. You know that, right? You're facing disbarment and a lawsuit that could bankrupt you, and you spent the week protecting everyone else instead of yourself."

"Building instead of destroying," he said simply. "Manuel taught me that lesson in the wreckage of this exact bakery twenty years ago. Seemed appropriate to finally apply it properly here, of all places."

Tessa appeared at the edge of the back room, clearly having eavesdropped on approximately eighty percent of this conversation while simultaneously running the register like a woman possessed. "Sorry to interrupt the extremely moving legal romance happening back here, but Maya, there's a line out the door and someone's asking if we do custom heart shapes for a proposal happening at four o'clock."

"Tell them yes," I called back, still holding onto Ethan's hand. "Tell them we specialize in ridiculous romantic gestures today, apparently."

"On it." Tessa disappeared, then poked her head back in. "Also, for the record, this is objectively the most romantic thing that has ever happened in this bakery, and that includes actual marriage proposals. You two need to calm down before you make the rest of us look bad."

"Noted," Ethan said, not looking even slightly sorry.

I gathered up the documents, holding them like they were something precious—which they were, in the strangest and most Ethan possible way. Not flowers, not jewelry, not some grand romantic gesture pulled from a movie. Just careful, thorough, obsessive protection, built by a man who'd once destroyed this exact building and had spent every day since trying to prove he was capable of the opposite.

"Come on," I said, tugging him toward the front. "You're going to help me survive this afternoon rush, and then tonight we're celebrating properly. Champagne, terrible reality television, and you explaining every single clause in this trust document until I actually understand what you built me."

"That sounds less like celebrating and more like a legal seminar."

"It's the most romantic legal seminar of my life. I'm allowed to have unconventional standards. I'm dating a disbarred—well, potentially disbarred—attorney who protects bakeries for fun."

"I really do need you to stop saying 'disbarred' with that much affection. It's sending mixed signals to my anxiety."

"Get used to it. I find your entire chaotic redemption arc extremely attractive, and I'm not going to apologize for that." I pulled him toward the counter, back into the controlled chaos of Sweetheart Week, back into the life we were building one absurd, over-prepared legal document at a time.

Behind us, the afternoon sun caught the front window—the same window he'd shattered twenty years ago, long sincereplaced, now gleaming clean and whole and completely, permanently protected.

Building instead of destroying.

Chapter twenty-eight

Building Something Real

Ethan

Watching Maya's face when she opened that folder had been worth every sleepless night it took to build it.

I'd spent the week bouncing between two very different versions of myself: the guy meticulously constructing legal armor for a bakery, and the guy simultaneously preparing to defend his own professional existence in front of a disciplinary board that seemed increasingly unimpressed by my recent life choices. It was, to put it mildly, an emotionally confusing seven days.

"You could have just bought her flowers," Richard said Sunday morning, reviewing the final draft of the protective trust overcoffee at my—our—kitchen table. Maya was at the bakery doing Sweetheart Week wind-down inventory, which meant Richard and I had the cottage to ourselves for what he was calling "a professional debrief," which I suspected was actually code for "checking on you because you look like a man running on fumes and spite."

"Flowers die. This doesn't." I gestured at the document. "Besides, I'm not exactly flush with cash for extravagant gestures right now. Legal protection was the one currency I still had plenty of."

"It's excellent work, for what it's worth. Airtight. I couldn't find a hole in it if I spent a week trying, and believe me, I tried, because that's what I do for fun apparently." Richard set down the document, studying me over his glasses. "You do understand this doesn't fix your own situation. You built her an impenetrable fortress and left yourself standing outside it in the rain."

"I'm aware."

"The ethics hearing is in nine days."