Page 100 of Merry Fake Bride

We take two lefts and the next part of the maze looks identical to the part we just left. “I want to spend time with you. It’s mostly all I can think about. It’s not my intention to make you feel pressured or obligated or anything like that, but I like you, Devon. I like you a lot.”

As honest as these words are, they’re almost a disservice to the depths of my feelings that have grown for this woman. “And I think you like me.”

We turn another corner and pause as two children sprint past us, laughing and giggling.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Devon says quietly as we resume walking.

“I could say the same thing.”

“What if…” She shakes her head, causing her curls to bounce softly. “You could learn things and it could change everything.”

“I won’t say I doubt that because in the end, neither of us knows how the other will react to things they don’t know.”

I squeeze her hand comfortingly. “But I’m willing to try. I want to. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. After you secure everything with the bakery later this week, I want to keep seeing you, Devon. If you want to keep seeing me.”

“I want to.”

Another turn and the exit to the maze appears before us like the walls shifted at exactly the right moment.

Devon stops walking, and I halt in front of her. Finally, she looks at me and the apprehension is painfully evident in her mind.

I can’t fathom how much trust this is taking for her.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve observed the subtle, soft signs of her walls coming down around me.

She touches me of her own choice, she doesn’t pull away and happily exists in my space without obvious tension.

And I know that came from somewhere.

Someone caused this.

Just like someone caused the scars I glimpsed on her back.

All I can do is openly show her I’m not like that and wait for her to take a chance on me.

I’m not without my own scars.

“The bakery,” she says after a moment, then her eyes narrow playfully.

“You know, these past two weeks, we’ve had an influx of orders from the city. Way more than usual, even for this time of year. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, would you?”

I shrug, unable to keep the knowing smile from my face.

“People talk. Everyone wants recommendations at this time of year. Good tarts. Great cakes. It just happens, y’know?”

“And it has nothing to do with how good sales and activity from rich, upstanding people help bolster my case?”

My smile remains innocent.

Devon sighs dramatically and resumes walking toward the exit, so I follow.

“I would like to keep seeing you,” she says softly. “But admitting it out loud almost feels like I’m setting myself up for failure.”

“What are you scared of?” I ask softly as we reach the exit and are greeted by several green trees wrapped up in pink and gold lights.

“The past,” Devon murmurs. “And you’re from a different world entirely, y’know? I just?—”

An obnoxious jingle rises from my pocket, cutting Devon off, and my irritation swells as I pull out my phone and see my mother.