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The bakery was still dark when I arrived at 4:30 AM, mind foggy from another night of confused dreams and restless sleep. I flipped on the lights, expecting the usual quiet comfort of my morning routine. Instead, I found a bewildering sight—the center workspace occupied by gleaming stainless steel equipment I didn't recognize at first glance.

As my eyes adjusted, disbelief washed over me. A commercial-grade planetary mixer—not just any model, but the one I'd been coveting since its release. Beside it sat a top-of-the-line chocolate tempering machine, a precision digital scale system, and a set of professional pastry tools I'd admired in culinary magazines but dismissed as far beyond my budget.

A simple card was propped against the mixer: "To help with the charity gala preparations. - J."

I stared at the equipment, emotions warring inside me. The generosity was overwhelming, the thoughtfulness touching. But something else twisted underneath—confusion, uncertainty about what these extravagant gifts meant in the context of our arrangement.

Without thinking, I pulled out my phone and called him, not caring that it was barely dawn.

"Sienna?" Jax answered immediately, his voice alert despite the hour. "Everything okay?"

"You bought me bakery equipment," I said, not bothering with pleasantries. "Expensive bakery equipment."

"Do you like it?" He sounded genuinely uncertain. "I remembered you mentioning the mixer specifically, but if it's not the right—"

"It's perfect. They're all perfect." I ran my hand over the mixer's smooth surface. "But Jax, this is too much. Way beyond our arrangement."

Silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken questions.

"I wanted to help with the gala preparations," he finally said, his voice careful. "You've been working so hard."

"Thank you," I replied softly. "Really. But I'm confused."

"About?"

I took a deep breath. "About what we're doing, Jax. The gifts, the trips, the... the kisses. None of this was in our agreement."

Another pause, longer this time. "I know."

"So what does it mean?" I pressed.

"I don't—" He stopped, then changed direction. "My first endorsement payment will be finalized this week. Your bakery loan will be paid as agreed."

The abrupt return to business terms felt like a splash of cold water. "Right. Of course. Our arrangement."

"Sienna—"

"I should get started on the baking," I interrupted, suddenly needing to end the conversation. "The morning rush will be here soon. Thanks again for the equipment."

The next few days passed in a blur of hospital charity gala preparations. I worked late every night, testing recipes, refining designs, coordinating with the event planner. The new equipment made the process infinitely easier, though each time I used the mixer, I was reminded of the confusing man who'd gifted it.

By Friday night, I was exhausted to the point of tears, my usual resilience worn thin by physical fatigue and emotional uncertainty. When I finally dragged myself home after midnight, expecting a dark, quiet house with Jax away at an Edmonton game, I was shocked to find the dining room transformed.

The table was elegantly set with fine china and crystal, the center occupied by a tiered display of what appeared to be... my gala desserts? Each one perfectly executed, arranged alongside handwritten comment cards.

"Surprise." Jax's voice came from the kitchen doorway, where he leaned with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "I thought you might need a test audience."

"You're supposed to be in Edmonton," I managed, still trying to process the scene.

"Early flight back. I wanted to be here." He stepped forward, gesturing to the display. "I had some help."

As if on cue, Leo and Chloe emerged from the kitchen, followed by Finn and Willow. All four were dressed nicely, as if for an actual event rather than a hastily arranged tasting.

"We've been sworn to secrecy about your designs until the official gala," Chloe said, coming to hug me. "But I can tell you right now, you're going to blow everyone away."

I looked from the beautifully arranged desserts to my friends to Jax, who was watching me with that intense focus I'd come to recognize—as if gauging not just my reaction but every micro-emotion crossing my face.

"You did this for me?" I asked him softly.

"You needed objective feedback," he replied simply. "And a break. You've been working yourself to exhaustion."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture, the effort it must have taken to arrange everything while I was working late—it broke something open inside me. For weeks, I'd been holding emotions at bay, trying to maintain the professional distance our arrangement required. Now, faced with such genuine care, tears welled despite my best efforts.

"Thank you," I whispered, blinking rapidly. "All of you."

My friends offered honest feedback, constructive suggestions, and generous praise. Wine flowed, laughter filled the room, and for a few hours, I forgot about the exhaustion and pressure of the upcoming gala.

Throughout the evening, I couldn't help noticing how Leo and Chloe gravitated toward each other—sitting closer than necessary, finding excuses for casual touches, sharing private smiles during group conversation. Whatever was happening between them had clearly evolved beyond tentative texting.

As the night wound down and guests prepared to leave, Chloe lingered, helping clear dessert plates while Leo made a show of checking messages on his phone.

"Need a ride home?" Leo asked Chloe with forced casualness when she finally reached for her coat.

"I can call a rideshare," she replied, though she made no move to do so.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm heading that direction anyway."

From the kitchen doorway, I watched their fingers brush as they walked out together, neither pulling away from the contact. Something like envy twisted inside me—not of Chloe specifically, but of the possibility she was allowing herself to explore. The courage to risk heartbreak for potential happiness.

"They're figuring it out," Jax observed, coming to stand beside me as the front door closed behind them. "Slowly. Stubbornly."

"At least they're trying," I replied, more wistfully than intended.

He turned to face me fully. "Sienna, about the equipment—"

"It's amazing, Jax. Truly. You have no idea how much easier it's made the gala prep."

"I wanted to help." His expression was earnest, unguarded in a way I rarely saw. "You've done so much for me, for this whole..." he gestured vaguely between us, "arrangement. I wanted to do something meaningful in return."

Without thinking, I moved forward and hugged him, arms wrapping around his waist, face pressed against his chest. His body stiffened in surprise before his arms came around me, holding me with a gentle strength that felt like security, like home.

The embrace lingered, neither of us pulling away. His chin rested atop my head, one hand moving in slow circles against my back. I could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, beneath my ear.

When we finally separated, he kept me close, one hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The gentle gesture felt intimate enough to steal my breath, his fingertips grazing my cheek with a tenderness that made my heart ache.

The moment stretched between us, loaded with unspoken feelings and possibilities. I found myself leaning slightly toward him, drawn by something stronger than conscious thought.

His phone rang, shattering the moment. Leo's name flashed on the screen, the call undoubtedly about the endorsement given the late hour.

"You should take that," I said, stepping back to create necessary distance. "I'm going to finish cleaning up."

Jax looked torn, but nodded, answering the call as I retreated to the kitchen, emotions in turmoil.

Later, alone in my room, I pulled out the wedding planner notebook I'd been using to maintain our fiction. On a fresh page, I drew a line down the center, creating two columns: "Reasons this marriage needs to remain fake" on the left, "Reasons I wish it were real" on the right.

The left column was easy to start: Business arrangement only. Temporary by design. Fulfilling our individual goals. Professional boundaries. Practical solution to mutual problems.

But the right column flowed even more readily, my pen barely keeping up with my thoughts: The way he remembers details about my preferences. His surprising gentleness with Sprinkles. How he listens—actually listens—when I talk about baking. The rare smile that transforms his entire face. The quiet strength he offers without demanding acknowledgment. How safe I feel in his arms. The pride in his voice when he introduces me to people. The way he's opened his life to me without reservation.

I stared at the completed lists, the right column spilling onto a second page while the left remained sparse and clinical. The evidence was overwhelming, impossible to ignore any longer.

Somehow, between the business meetings and photoshoots, between hockey games and midnight baking sessions, between performed affection and genuine care, I'd fallen completely, irrevocably in love with my fake husband.