2. Marlie
MARLIE
I meeta lot of crazy people in my line of work.
As the owner of a dessert cart, it sort of just comes with the territory. But this—getting proposed to by a complete stranger— takes the cake.
Especially when the stranger looks like… Jack.
I find myself absentmindedly licking my lips as I take in his rugged features, from his tousled dark hair to those piercing blue eyes that seem to hold an ocean of secrets. His jawline could cut glass and there’s an unmistakable strength about him.
But then I snap out of it. Because no matter how handsome he is, this situation is still completely nuts.
“Are you out of your mind?” I say finally. “I can’t marry you. I don’t even know you. And even if I did know you, why would I marry someone who just blew up my business?”
Jack doesn’t flinch at my tone. Instead, he takes a step closer. “Because it works,” he replies. “I need a wife for an undercover job. You need money to rebuild. Getting married solves both of our problems. It’s a practical solution.”
I cross my arms, trying to mask how the seed of his logic finds a tiny crack in my resolve. “An undercover job? What are you, some kind of spy?”
Jack barks out a laugh. “No, sweetheart. I’m not a spy.”
“So, what are you, then?”
“Let’s just say I provide personal protection for individuals that require a... less traditional approach. One that people are willing to pay a lot of money for.”
“Less traditional,” I echo. “Is that code for ‘illegal’?”
Jack grins again. “It’s code for ‘complicated.’ And having a wife makes things less complicated in certain situations.”
I bite my lip, pondering the opportunity amidst the madness. There’s something about the way he’s offering this that doesn’t feel entirely crazy.
My gaze drifts to the charred remains of my dessert stand. The sight wrenches my heart. I’ve poured everything into Macaroons by Marlie, every last penny and ounce of passion.
Now, it’s gone.
Deep down, I can’t ignore the flicker of potential in his words. And there’s a part of me—probably the desperate part—that wants to believe there’s a solution this simple.
But then again, maybe the smoke has gone to my head.
“Look, I know it’s unconventional,” Jack says. There’s an edge of earnestness in his voice that makes me look up. “But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it could work for both of us.”
“Unconventional is an understatement,” I mutter. But the knot of panic in my stomach loosens ever so slightly.
“How about we grab breakfast?” He nods toward the diner across the street. “We can talk details over food.”
My stomach answers before I can, growling loud enough that Jack’s lips twitch with the hint of a smile.
“I am starving,” I admit, feeling a trace of curiosity prickle under my skin.
“Then it’s settled. Breakfast it is.” He gestures for me to go ahead, and we make our way toward the diner.
We weave through the cluttered street, Jack’s presence a strange sort of anchor amidst the chaos. He guides me with a hand at the small of my back as we sidestep the scattered remnants of what used to be my livelihood.
“Watch your step, sweetheart,” he cautions, as I step over a twisted metal rod.
“Thanks,” I murmur, though a part of me still doesn’t want his help.
I should be fuming—after all, it’s because of him that I’m in this mess. But there’s a tiny part of me that lights up at how protective he’s being.
The bell above the diner door jingles as we step inside, and I glance around at the bustling crowd, feeling the weight of curious eyes on us. It’s as if they can all sense the bizarre tension between Jack and me, like we’re main characters in a play they’ve all come to see.
“Table for two,” Jack tells the hostess with an easy confidence that has her nodding and grabbing menus without missing a beat. He follows her through the maze of tables, his hand finding mine as he leads the way.
Why does he keep touching me?
This isn’t a date, it can’t be—dates don’t usually follow after a man obliterates your livelihood and then proposes marriage out of the blue.
Right?
We slide into a red vinyl booth by the window, and Jack doesn’t hesitate to place an order. “Two coffees, please. Black.”
Normally, I’m annoyed when men order for me without asking. But for some reason, with Jack, it’s different. It’s weirdly…hot. He nailed it, too—black coffee, just how I like it.
“You got it. Two black coffees coming right up,” waitress chirps before bustling off.
Then it’s just Jack and me, and that ‘date’ feeling intensifies.
“So,” I begin, trying to sound confident. “Tell me more about your plan to give me a million dollars to become your insta-wife.”
I meant to say the words like they were a joke. But Jack doesn’t laugh. Instead, he just says, “Is that your price? A million dollars?”
The question catches me off guard. But before doubt can set in, I nod. “Yep, that’s my price.” Then I quickly add in, “and a new storefront for my macaroon business.”
Jack’s smirk widens into a full blow grin. “Deal.”
I blink at him. “Wait. You’re really offering me a million dollars to be your wife?”
“If that’s what it takes, then yes.” Jack winks at me playfully. “You should probably work on your negotiation skills, though. I would’ve given you two million if you’d asked.”
Is this guy for real?
“But why me?” The question tumbles out before I can snatch it back.
An unreadable expression crosses Jack’s face. “Why not you?”
I swallow hard, trying to push down the insecurities that bubble up inside me.
Jack is undeniably handsome, a fact that hasn’t escaped the notice of every female patron in this diner. Their longing glances and fluttering eyelashes are as clear as day, and I can’t help but wonder why he’d ever choose to fake marry me over them.
But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I say, “Jack, we don’t even know each other.”
“Then we’ll get to know each other.” His heated gaze rakes over me in a way that makes my breath hitch. “Isn’t that what all couples do?”
I swallow hard. “I-I guess so.”
The waitress returns then, setting down our coffees with a clink. I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my palms as I consider Jack’s words.
Six months out of culinary school and every penny I’d earned had gone into Macaroons by Marlie, my sweet little dream on wheels. Now, with it gone, owning a brick-and-mortar shop feels like a distant fantasy. Yet here he is, offering it to me on a silver platter.
Jack studies me, his blue eyes sharp and discerning. There’s a shift in the air between us, a spark of something that might just be possibility—or insanity. I can’t decide which.
“I... I’m not making any promises.” I force a swallow past the tightness in my throat. “But I’ll think about it.”
Jack’s lips curve into a confident and somehow knowing smirk, as if he’s already won this round.
Without asking, he reaches across the table and takes my phone from where it lies next to the salt shaker. He holds it up to my face to unlock it, then his fingers dance across the screen.
“Here,” he says as he hands it back to me. “Now you have my number. Think it over tonight and let me know tomorrow.” Then his voice drops a full octave. “I promise that if you say yes, you won’t regret it.”
“Ugh,you won’t believe the kind of day I’ve had,” I say into my phone, pacing the length of my tiny apartment. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I press the phone to my ear, waiting for my twin sister’s response.
Melanie’s voice chirps through with a tinge of excitement that only someone living a thousand miles away in the tranquility of Wyoming could have. “What happened?”
“Some guy blew up my dessert cart this morning!”
Melanie gasps. “Seriously?”
“Yep. But that’s not all,” I continue. “Afterward, he sort of...” I trail off, not sure how to even broach the subject.
“He sort of what?”
I groan. “He asked me to marry him. And then offered me a million dollars to say yes!”
There’s a pause, and then Melanie bursts into laughter. “Well, is he cute, at least?”
My cheeks burn at the thought of Jack’s bulging biceps. “Yes, he’s…annoyingly handsome. But that’s beside the point.”
Melanie squeals. “Girl, if he’s cute and rich and proposing, what are you waiting for? Say yes!”
“Melanie!” I exclaim, though her carefree attitude is starting to make the situation seem less insane. “I can’t just say yes. It’s way more complicated than that.”
“Isn’t everything?”
She’s always been the one to take life as it comes, ready to ride whatever wave crashes her way. Meanwhile, I calculate each move, afraid of falling into the deep end.
“I can’t just up and marry a stranger!” The words tumble out of me in a rush. “What about our family? What will they think? Dean and Daphne...and what about Mom and Dad?”
“They’ll get over it, Marlie. Believe me.”
“Even still. I can’t just marry a guy I met five minutes ago. It’s crazy.”
“Crazy is just another word for opportunity,” Melanie replies. “I mean, look at me and Jake. He literally broke my car and stole my heart on the same day.”
I halt mid-pace, laughing despite myself. “Yeah, but that’s Fit Mountain. Stuff like that doesn’t happen here in the real world.”
“Real world or not, you’re considering it, aren’t you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be talking to me about it.” Melanie’s voice softens, and I can almost see her knowing smile through the phone.
Sighing, I sink onto the couch. “Considering is a strong word.”
“Marlie Watts, don’t you dare undersell yourself. You’re smart and ambitious, and if Jack is as hot as you say, it might not be the worst thing to play house with him for a while. When life throws a curveball, sometimes you gotta swing.”
I shake my head, smiling ruefully. “Only you would turn a disaster into a sports metaphor.”
But deep down, there’s a flutter of excitement, a tiny spark that wonders if Melanie has a point.
“Anyway, I gotta run. Jake’s taking me out tonight. But sis, seriously, think about it. What do you have to lose?”
“Only my sanity,” I reply dryly.
Melanie laughs. “Promise me you’ll at least sleep on it?”
“Promise,” I reply, and we both know it’s a promise I’ll keep.
“Good. Now, I’ve got to go. Love you, twin.”
“Love you too. Talk soon.” The line goes dead, and I’m left alone with my thoughts.
After hanging up, I curl up on my bed, hugging a pillow to my chest. I close my eyes, trying to envision what life would be like if I said yes—if I actually married Jack Barton.
And then there’s my dream—my very own macaron shop. Not just a cart this time, but a real storefront with pastel colors and delicate aromas wafting onto the street, tempting passersby. It’s been the beacon of hope I’ve clung to through every double shift and late-night baking frenzy.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling fan circling lazily above.
Melanie would dive headfirst into this madness without a second thought. She thrives on spontaneity, while I thrive on order, on plans. Yet here I am, considering a proposal that’s anything but planned.
A marriage of convenience with a man I barely know seems insane. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that maybe a touch of Melanie’s fearlessness is exactly what I need to embrace.
I reach down and grab my phone. My thumb hovers over the screen, the message already typed out.
Taking one last deep breath, I tap the send button.
“I’m in.”