Page 6 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend (Curvy Girls of Whitetail Falls #3)

I wake before she does, my body somehow knowing that this morning matters more than any I've had in years. Amber sleeps curled against me, her cheek on my chest, one leg tangled between mine. Golden autumn light filters through the loft windows, painting her skin with honey and warmth.

I don't move, afraid to disrupt this moment, afraid she might wake up and regret everything.

But God, she's beautiful in the morning.

Her blonde hair is a mess, spread across my shoulder and pillow in wild tangles that I helped create. Her lips are slightly swollen from our kisses, parted softly in sleep. The sheet has slipped down to her waist, exposing the generous curve of her breast pressed against my side.

My chest tightens with something I'm not ready to name, though it's been growing since the moment she crashed into me.

Amber stirs, making a small noise in the back of her throat as she stretches against me. Her eyes flutter open, confusion flickering briefly before recognition dawns. Then she smiles, slow and sweet and a little shy.

"Morning," she murmurs, voice husky with sleep.

"Morning, beautiful." I brush hair from her face, unable to stop touching her. "Sleep okay?"

She hums contentedly, shifting to prop her chin on my chest. "Better than okay. You make a surprisingly comfortable pillow for someone so... firm."

"I excel at all sleeping arrangements," I say with mock seriousness. "Though I'll admit, I prefer the ones involving you wearing exactly what you are now."

"Which is nothing," she points out, a blush spreading across her cheeks despite her bold words.

"Exactly." I trail my fingers down her spine, feeling her shiver against me. "Perfect attire for breakfast in bed."

Her eyebrow arches. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Well, we could call it what it actually is," I suggest, rolling suddenly so she's beneath me, squealing with surprise. "Round three? Four? I lost count somewhere around midnight."

Amber laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest as I hover over her. "You're insatiable."

"Only for you," I murmur, lowering my head to press a kiss to her collarbone, then the curve of her breast.

Her breath catches, hands sliding into my hair. "Tucker..."

I work my way up to her lips, kissing her deeply. She tastes like sleep and us, her body warm and pliant beneath mine. When I pull back, her eyes are dark, cheeks flushed.

"As much as I'd love to keep you in this bed all day," I say reluctantly, "I'm starving, and I suspect you are too."

On cue, her stomach growls, making us both laugh. "Traitor," she mutters to her midsection.

"Come on." I roll away, immediately missing her warmth. "Shower, then I'm taking you to breakfast. The Copper Kettle does the best Sunday brunch in town."

"Are you sure you want to be seen with me? In public?" Her tone is light, but I catch the uncertainty beneath it. "People will talk."

I lean over and kiss her again, firmly. "Let them."

In the shower, we manage to keep things mostly practical, though I can't resist pressing her against the tile for a few steamy minutes, her leg hooked around my waist as water cascades over us. Eventually, we emerge clean and slightly flushed, exchanging kisses as we dress.

Amber borrows one of my flannel shirts, cinching it at her waist over her dress from last night. The sight of her in my clothes does something primitive to my insides.

"What?" she asks, catching my expression.

"Nothing." I shake my head, smiling. "Just thinking that shirt never looked so good."

She rolls her eyes, but I see the pleased flush on her cheeks. "Smooth talker."

"Only stating facts." I step behind her as she fixes her hair in the mirror, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder. Our eyes meet in the reflection.

"Is this real?" she asks quietly. "Or are we still playing pretend?"

I turn her to face me, framing her face with my hands. "This is the most real thing I've felt in years."

Her smile is worth every moment of vulnerability.

Acorn Circle is alive with autumn energy as we stroll hand-in-hand toward The Copper Kettle.

Yesterday's wedding has left traces everywhere—ribbons still flutter from lamposts, and the occasional flower petal drifts across the cobblestones.

The Fall Festival setup continues around the square, with vendors arranging booths and the scent of cinnamon and apples filling the air.

"I love this time of year," Amber sighs, squeezing my hand. "Everything smells like possibility."

I laugh. "That's oddly specific."

"You know what I mean." She bumps my shoulder with hers. "Like anything could happen."

"Anything already has," I point out, bringing her hand to my lips for a kiss. "Who'd have thought spilling coffee on me would lead to this?"

"Best clumsiness ever," she agrees with a grin.

The Copper Kettle is bustling with Sunday morning patrons when we arrive. The hostess raises her eyebrows when she sees us together.

"Well, well," she says, smirking. "Table for two?"

"Please," I say, ignoring her knowing look.

She leads us to a corner booth by the window, where golden light spills across the wooden table. "Enjoy," she says with a meaningful glance between us.

As soon as she's gone, Amber leans forward. "Is it my imagination, or is everyone staring at us?"

I glance around. She's not wrong, several tables have paused their conversations to look our way.

"Small town," I remind her with a shrug. "They're probably just surprised to see me awake before noon on a Sunday."

"Sure," she says skeptically. "Nothing to do with Whitetail Falls' most notorious bachelor having breakfast with the woman he danced with quite... intimately at last night's wedding."

"Notorious," I repeat, rolling my eyes. "You make me sound like a villain in a historical romance."

"The Scandalous Mr. Hughes," she intones dramatically. "Breaking hearts and brewing beer across the countryside."

I laugh, but there's something in her joke that hits a nerve. Is that really how she sees me? How everyone sees me?

Before I can respond, our server arrives with coffee. We order and fall into easy conversation about the wedding, her shop, my latest brewing experiment. It feels natural, like we've been doing this for years instead of hours.

"So I was thinking," I say, reaching across to tangle my fingers with hers, "maybe we could do this again. Like, regularly."

Her smile is soft. "Breakfast?"

"That. And other things." I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. "Dating things. Exclusively."

Her eyes widen slightly. "Tucker Hughes, are you asking me to go steady?"

"If we were in the 1950s, yes," I laugh, relieved by her teasing tone. "In current terms, I'm asking if you'll be my girlfriend. For real this time."

The joy that spreads across her face is answer enough, but she leans forward anyway. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

I'm about to kiss her when a shadow falls across our table.

"Tucker. What a surprise."

Callie stands there, elegant as ever in a cream sweater and tailored pants, her eyebrows arched in feigned surprise. My stomach tightens, not with longing but with irritation.

"Callie," I acknowledge coolly. "Need something?"

Her gaze shifts to Amber, dismissive and calculating. "Just saying hello. Didn't expect to see you two... so quickly after our talk."

Amber stiffens beside me. I feel her hand start to pull away from mine, but I hold firm.

"Our talk?" I repeat. "You mean when you suggested we 'catch up' and I told you I wasn't interested? That talk?"

Callie's smile tightens. "You've always had a flair for drama, Tucker. We both know this—" she gestures between Amber and me "—is just your way of proving something. She's a rebound, and everyone knows it."

I feel Amber shrink beside me, and something fierce and protective roars to life in my chest. But before I can respond, Callie continues, raising her voice just enough to ensure nearby tables can hear.

"It's sweet, really. Playing house with the local shopgirl. But we both know you're not the settling down type. It's what I always liked about you, no messy attachments."

The restaurant has gone quiet. I'm aware of eyes on us, of Amber's hand trembling slightly in mine. Suddenly, I'm furious—not just at Callie, but at myself for ever giving anyone reason to think I'm incapable of something real.

I stand, drawing myself to my full height. "You know what, Callie? You're right about one thing. I wasn't the settling down type. But that had nothing to do with commitment issues and everything to do with not finding someone worth committing to."

I turn to Amber, whose eyes are wide and uncertain, and extend my hand. She takes it, standing beside me.

"This isn't a rebound," I continue, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. My voice softens as I look at Amber. "This is the real thing. The only thing that's mattered in a long time."

Whispers ripple through the room. Amber's eyes glisten with unshed tears, her cheeks flushed.

"Tucker," she whispers, "you don't have to—"

"I do," I interrupt gently. "Because I need everyone to know that this isn't fake. It never was, not really." I cup her cheek, uncaring of our audience. "You knocked down every wall I had, Amber Hill. You walked into my life and suddenly all those defenses I built didn't matter anymore."

A tear slips down her cheek. I brush it away with my thumb.

"You're it for me," I finish simply. "The only woman I want. For as long as you'll have me."

The restaurant is utterly silent now. I'm distantly aware of Callie retreating,of the waiter grinning from the hostess stand. But all I really see is Amber, looking at me like I've given her something precious.

"I love you," she says suddenly, the words bursting from her as if she can't contain them anymore. "I know it's crazy and fast and probably stupid, but I do. I love you."

Joy explodes in my chest, bright and overwhelming. "Not stupid," I manage. "Perfect. Because I love you too."

I pull her into my arms and kiss her, right there in the middle of The Copper Kettle with half the town watching. She melts against me, her arms winding around my neck as she rises on her toes to meet me.

When we break apart, laughing and slightly breathless, I press my forehead to hers. "Well, that's one way to announce we're official."

"Go big or go home, right?" she teases, her eyes bright with happiness.

"Speaking of home," I murmur, just for her ears, "what do you say we get our breakfast to go? I suddenly have an appetite for something else entirely."

Her laughter is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. "The Scandalous Mr. Hughes strikes again."

"Only for you," I promise, stealing another quick kiss. "From now on, only for you."

As we collect our to-go order and walk hand-in-hand back toward my loft, autumn leaves dancing around our feet and the town buzzing with fresh gossip behind us, I realize something profound: for the first time in my life, I don't mind being known. Being seen. Being vulnerable.

Because with Amber, I'm not Whitetail Falls' notorious heartbreaker anymore.

I'm just a man who found exactly what he didn't know he was looking for—in a coffee spill, a fake date, and the curve of her smile when she looks at me like I'm her happy ending.

And I am. We are.