The Bad Boy’s Fake Wife

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Emma

O f all the coffee shops in all the towns, he had to walk into mine on the morning I decided to look like a sleep-deprived raccoon. The universe clearly has a personal vendetta against me.

When Jonathan Thomson waltzes into the coffee shop where I’m waiting first thing in the morning, my stomach drops like a stone. Every muscle in my body screams at me to run, to disappear before he sees me. I wonder what’s more mortifying: being forced to share space with Jonathan after years apart, or the awful fact that my hair looks like a squirrel made a nest in it.

I entertain the wild notion that the earth might just swallow me up, dragging me down before Jonathan’s gaze can lock onto mine, before he can see the disaster that is my hair and the exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin. But Grover Hill isn’t exactly earthquake country, and the universe rarely listens to my wishes. Still, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” Mia observes from beside me, keeping one eye on the counter—still oblivious to Jonathan’s arrival thanks to her notorious shortsightedness.

“This is worse than a ghost,” I mutter, quickly averting my gaze from Jonathan before he catches me gawking. If I ignore him long enough, maybe he’ll vanish, or at least figure out he’s in the wrong place.

Mia peeks over my shoulder. “What were you looking at? Did you see someone?” Her eyes dart around as she searches the shop for something worse than a ghost, and her gasp is loud enough for half the town to hear it.

“It’s Jonathan!” she blurts, staring at him. “I can’t believe it—I haven’t seen him in years!”

Of course, as luck would have it, he appears on the very day I return to Grover Hill, before I’ve had a chance to settle in and still reek of travel and desperately need a shower.

“He can’t see me like this!” I squeak. “Quick, hide me before he reaches the counter!”

Mia frowns. “I thought you hated him. So why do you care how you look?”

My eyes narrow. Can’t she see this is a catastrophe? This calls for immediate action—Jonathan can never see me like this. You never let the person who always gets under your skin see you at your worst!

“Oh, trust me, I do not care about how I look. I just don’t want to deal with Jonathan. He irritates me like no one else.” I sigh, barely noticing the concern on Mia’s face. “Running into him today is just not what I need.”

“Didn’t expect a warm welcome, but ouch,” says a voice behind me, laced with dry amusement. I jump, heat rushing to my face as I turn to see Jonathan standing there, his expression guarded but his lips quirking up slightly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your grand re-entrance,” he says, his tone light, yet there’s a hint of something I can’t quite read.

My jaw drops and my cheeks burn with embarrassment—he heard every word I said. Embarrassment twists inside me, yet my anger and loathing eclipse it.

I face him, his strikingly handsome face contorted into a frown, his mocking glare daring me to speak first. Once this had been a game between us—who would break the silence? I always lost.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” I glare at him.

He tilts his head. “Geez, have you looked in a mirror? I’ve never met anyone as insufferable as you.”

I hear Mia stifling a snicker, and try to ignore it. My energy is waning after the long journey back to town.

“I can’t believe this is how my first day back is unfolding,” I sigh, taking a seat at the counter. If I just ignore him, maybe he’ll leave. Or if I pretend he doesn’t exist, he might simply vanish.

But to my dismay, he slides into the seat next to me and asks, “You’re back for good? I thought you were off in the big city chasing your dreams.”

I exhale sharply. “Not everyone gets to chase their dreams without limits, Jonathan. Some of us have to make hard choices.” Instantly, I regret the outburst as I meet his disapproving gaze.

Jonathan’s face remains guarded, though his jaw tightens for the briefest moment. He shifts his weight slightly, his fingers tapping against the counter before stilling. A flicker of something—annoyance? Something else?—crosses his features before he simply exhales and offers no retort. I feel a hollow pang, maybe a slight urge to apologize, but I hold my tongue. What would I even say? That I didn’t mean to snap, that my frustration wasn’t really about him? That would be a lie. And yet, the longer the silence stretches, the more I wonder if I’m the one who’s changed, or if Jonathan has always had this ability to unsettle me in ways I don’t fully understand.

Mia finally says, “Are you two going to order, or should I start charging admission for this show? A little less tension and a little more coffee, please—bad vibes aren’t on the menu.”

Before I can protest, Jonathan leans in slightly, just for a second, like he’s testing if the familiarity still lingers between us. Then he straightens and says, “I’ll have an iced Americano, and you’ll have your usual soy latte.”

I stare, my pulse quickening, mouth slightly open. “You really think you can still read my mind after all these years?”

Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “I remember you always refused almond milk, said it ruined the taste.” He smirks. “Let me guess—if it were fall, you’d have some seasonal concoction instead?”

“Uh…”

Have I slipped into an alternate universe? What’s happening here? After all these years, how could he possibly remember my coffee habits? Warmth stirs in my chest before I can push it away—the quiet kind that comes with being seen, even when I don’t want to be. It unsettles me, but there’s something undeniably sweet about it, too.

“Stop gaping like a fish and admit I’m right,” Jonathan chides, forcing me to clamp my mouth shut. Why do I embarrass myself so much in his presence?

“How do you know I haven’t switched to regular milk?” I ask, adding, “And it’s been five years since I left town. You shouldn’t remember every detail about me.”

Jonathan deadpans, “You can’t reverse lactose intolerance—at least not that I know of. And besides, it’s not my fault I have a great memory, unlike you. You weren’t gone for five years; it’s been four years and eight months, exactly.”

Mia soon returns with our order and leaves us to our standoff.

“Geez, you remember a lot about me,” I mutter, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. Jonathan chokes on his coffee, and to my surprise, his ears flush red as I look his way.

Finally, he says, “You always bring an energy with you, Emma. It’s impossible not to notice.” His voice dips slightly, like he’s about to say more, but then he exhales and shakes his head instead. “I wasn’t expecting to see you back here.”

With that, he places money on the counter and turns to leave, his expression giving nothing away.

Defiance rises in me, battling the nagging doubt creeping in. Maybe he’s right. I’ve always taken up space, but now I feel myself pulling inward, questioning.

Mia joins me, nudging my arm. “Don’t let him get to you. You’re back home, and that’s what matters. Be yourself—own that energy.”

My eyes water as Mia wraps her arms around me. “Thank you. I missed you—I just can’t compare this to talking over FaceTime.”

Mia laughs. “It isn’t the same, and don’t let Jonathan ruin your day. Focus on the people who matter.”

I wish it were that simple. Jonathan has always managed to pierce my hard exterior, knowing exactly how to provoke anger or sorrow. I managed to forget him during my years away, but now that I’m back, I can’t escape him—not when he’s my brother’s best friend.

I wave Mia goodbye and step out of the café, the crisp air doing little to settle the unease curling in my chest. I rub my arms, trying to shake the lingering tension of the encounter. Even now, my mind replays every sharp word exchanged. I should feel triumphant, but instead there’s only a restless ache. Why does he always get under my skin so easily? Why, after all these years, does he still affect me like this? I exhale slowly, but the doubt stubbornly persists. His words sting because they hit too close to home—I left this town to chase my dream of becoming a renowned author, and what do I have to show for it? Nothing.

I had one hit—a book that paid my rent for years and sparked hope of bestseller fame. Then my second book flopped, and so did my third. Failure after failure left me depressed, drained my inspiration, and rendered me incapable of writing another word for my agent.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely register the vibration in my pocket until the shrill ring cuts through my spiraling doubts. With a sigh, I pull out my phone and glance at the screen. It’s Agnes, my agent.

“Hey, Agnes.”

“Emma, when can I expect the next manuscript? I truly believe that with the right marketing, you’re due for another hit,” she rambles, and I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me.

“Agnes, I just got home. Please let me settle in first. I need time to recapture my inspiration, and then you’ll have your next book,” I reply, though we both know it isn’t that simple. Standing outside the café, my shoulders sag, and I add, “I need a little room to breathe.”

After a pause, she finally says, “Just do what you can to make the next book amazing.” Then she hangs up, leaving me burdened with her expectations. Matching my first book’s success seems impossible after two disastrous flops. Each day, I wonder if I should give up writing and get a day job—maybe as a barista, especially if Mia is hiring...

No. I left the city to create art, not to slave away at a coffee shop. I shake off the haunting feeling of inadequacy and exhale deeply.

“Am I the inspiration you need?” a voice asks behind me, nearly making me stumble. I turn to see Jonathan, leaning casually against the café wall with his hands in his pockets.

“You scared me!” I say, pressing a hand to my chest as my heart races. “Do you always sneak up on people, or is this a special talent of yours?” I let out a shaky breath, trying to sound composed. “What are you still doing here, anyway?”

Jonathan’s expression shifts, his gaze flickering over me before his jaw tightens. He exhales slowly. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will. But I don’t think that’s what either of us really wants.”

He hesitates, like he might say something more, but instead he simply nods and turns, strolling away. I watch him go, my cheeks warming as frustration and something else I can’t quite name twist inside me.