Page 7 of Claiming the Fake Boyfriend (Curvy Girls of Whitetail Falls #3)

Two Years Later

The morning light spills through the loft windows, painting golden streaks across the exposed brick walls. I stir the batter for pumpkin spice muffins and watch Tucker through the kitchen archway as he fusses with the coffee grinder, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"You're staring again," he says without looking up, a smile in his voice.

"Can you blame me?" I set down the mixing bowl and move behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "You're very stare-worthy, especially when you're making that intense 'coffee is serious business' face."

He turns in my embrace, catching me close. His morning stubble grazes my cheek as he drops a kiss on my temple. "Big day today. Need the caffeine."

"It's just cake tasting," I remind him, though my stomach flutters with excitement. "Not rocket science."

"Amber Hill, soon-to-be Hughes," Tucker says solemnly, "cake is never 'just' anything. It's the cornerstone of any decent wedding."

I laugh and step back, holding up my left hand where my engagement ring catches the light. The center stone isn't a diamond but a deep amber citrine, surrounded by tiny emeralds that Tucker said reminded him of his eyes meeting mine.

"I thought I was the cornerstone of our wedding," I tease.

Tucker pulls me back, his hands warm on my hips. "You're the cornerstone of everything."

How does he still do this—turn my knees to jelly with a simple sentence? After two years, hundreds of kisses, countless nights wrapped in each other's arms, he can still make me blush like it's the first time.

The coffee machine beeps, breaking the moment.

Tucker pours us each a mug, adding just the right amount of cream to mine without asking.

These small rituals, the way he knows how I take my coffee, how I know which side of the bed he prefers, the silent choreography of our mornings… these are the things I cherish most.

"So," I say, accepting the steaming mug, "chocolate raspberry, lemon elderflower, or vanilla bourbon?"

"Is 'all of the above' an option?" He waggles his eyebrows. "Because I'm thinking we need at least three cakes. Maybe four."

"You're impossible."

"You love it."

I do. God help me, I love everything about this man, from his terrible morning hair to his ridiculous sweet tooth to the way he still reaches for my hand when we walk through town together.

When we get to the bakery on Dewdrop Way it is warm and fragrant, the air thick with vanilla and butter. The baker herself, a round woman with silver-streaked hair and flour perpetually dusting her apron, leads us to a small table by the window where an array of cake samples awaits.

"For Whitetail Falls' favorite couple," she says with a wink, setting down a pot of tea. "Take your time, dears."

Tucker wastes no time, attacking the chocolate raspberry with gusto. "This," he declares between bites, "is the one."

"You haven't even tried the others yet," I point out, sampling a delicate forkful of lemon cake.

"Don't need to." He reaches across the table, thumb gently wiping a crumb from my lower lip. The casual intimacy of it still thrills me. "But I will, because watching you eat cake is possibly my favorite pastime."

"Weirdo."

"Your weirdo," he corrects, pushing the vanilla bourbon sample toward me. "Try this one next. It might change your life."

I do, and the rich, complex flavor blooms on my tongue. "Oh, that's good."

"See?" He looks smug. "Trust me on desserts. I'm a professional."

"You make beer for a living."

"Liquid dessert," he counters without missing a beat.

We sample each flavor twice (Tucker's insistence), debating the merits of each until we finally settle on the vanilla bourbon with salted caramel filling.

As the baker jots down notes for our order, I glance out the window at Acorn Circle.

The trees are just beginning to turn, hints of gold and crimson appearing among the green.

In a month, they'll be ablaze with autumn glory.

"Penny for your thoughts," Tucker says as we step outside, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully behind us.

"Just thinking about how different my life is from what I imagined two years ago.

" I slip my arm through his as we stroll toward Autumn's Embrace, my boutique that's flourished beyond my wildest dreams these past years.

"After Cameron, I thought I'd just... exist. Run my shop. Be the town's cautionary tale."

Tucker stops walking, turning to face me. "And now?"

"Now I know that was just the prologue." I touch his face, feeling the familiar curve of his jaw beneath my palm. "This is the real story."

His expression softens. "I like being your story."

"Good, because you're stuck with me. Legally, soon enough."

"Not soon enough," he corrects, pulling me close. In the middle of Acorn Circle, with shoppers and locals bustling around us, he kisses me like we're still those people from two years ago.

When we part, slightly breathless, a passing older woman chuckles. "Save something for the wedding, you two."

Tucker grins unrepentantly. "No promises, Mrs. Foster."

As we continue walking, hand in hand beneath the canopy of changing leaves, Tucker says casually, "So I've been thinking about the space above your shop."

"What about it?"

"Well, we're going to need more room eventually. When little Hughes babies start arriving."

My heart does a somersault. "Babies? Plural?"

"At least two," he says confidently. "One with your eyes, one with your smile. Both with your heart."

"And your stubborn streak," I add, trying to sound casual while my mind fills with images of golden-haired children running through Autumn's Embrace, tiny feet on the brewery stairs.

"Naturally." He squeezes my hand. "What do you think? Ready to expand the empire in a few years?"

"With you? Always."

The autumn wind picks up, swirling golden leaves around our feet as we walk through the town that brought us together. Whitetail Falls hasn't changed much in two years, but I have. I'm no longer the woman who was left behind, defined by what she lost.

I'm the woman Tucker Hughes loves. Strong, wanted, enough. More than enough.

As we reach the door of my boutique, Tucker pulls me back for one more kiss, his hand gentle at the nape of my neck. "See you tonight, future Mrs. Hughes," he murmurs against my lips.

"Count on it, Mr. Hill," I tease, using the nickname that still makes him groan and laugh simultaneously.

He heads off toward Storybook Brewery, turning once to blow me a kiss that makes me giggle like a teenager. I watch him go, this man who changed everything by spilling my latte and stealing my heart, and I know with bone-deep certainty:

This is what happily ever after feels like.

Thank you for reading!