Chapter One #2
"What exactly would this entail?" he asked.
"You show up Christmas Eve morning for judging.
The event takes about two hours. I handle all logistics, you just taste the samples and provide feedback.
" I pulled up the website for Cape Cod Regional on my phone.
"The hospital gala is that evening at seven.
I'll be your plus-one. We attend together, make small talk, show your colleagues you're a well-rounded human, then go our separate ways. "
"Why do I feel like there's a catch?"
"No catch. Just..." I hesitated. "There's a tree lighting ceremony tonight in the town square. First event of the campaign. If you could attend with me, it would be good practice. Help us get used to being around each other before more high-pressure situations."
"Fake couple." He said it like the words tasted bitter. "So we're supposed to pretend we're dating?"
"We're supposed to act like two people who enjoy each other's company and support community causes together. If people make assumptions, we don't correct them." I shrugged. "It's not complicated."
He studied me with an intensity that made my skin warm. His gaze traveled from my face down to my hands and back up, assessing.
"You're very young," he finally said.
"I'm twenty-nine. Plenty old enough to attend a hospital gala."
"I'm forty-seven."
"Eighteen years isn't that big a gap." I leaned forward. "Look, we both need something from each other. We're both adults. Unless you have a better solution?"
Silence stretched between us. His fingers drummed against his mug—long, capable fingers that probably moved with confidence in an operating room.
"I hate office politics," he finally said. "I became a surgeon to save lives, not attend parties.”
"I hate disappointing people," I admitted. "This campaign could make a real difference for Alzheimer's research—for people like your mother."
Our eyes met across the table, and something shifted between us—a recognition that we both understood pressure, even if from different directions.
"I bought a condo here six months ago," he said quietly. "Moved to Starlight Bay to be closer to my mom. I take her to breakfast twice a week and watch her forget a little more each time." He shook his head. "If supporting this work helps fund better treatments, it's worth doing."
"Then help me make these events successful. The more attention we draw, the more money we raise."
He exhaled slowly. "Fine. I'll judge your cookie contest. And you'll be my date on Christmas Eve."
Relief flooded through me. "Thank you. Seriously."
"What time is this tree lighting?"
"Six o'clock in the town square. I need to be there by five-thirty for setup."
"I'll be there at five-thirty." He stood, pulling out his wallet. "If we're doing this, we do it right. That means showing up to support you, not just appearing for photos."
I blinked up at him, surprised. "That's... really considerate."
"I don't do anything halfway, Ms. Summers." He dropped cash on the table. "See you tonight."
He was halfway to the door when I called after him. "It's Piper. If we're supposed to be dating, you should use my first name."
He glanced back, and amusement flickered across his face. "See you tonight, Piper."
After he left, I returned to the counter where Maisie was waiting with my latte and a knowing look.
"Well," she said, sliding the cup toward me with a grin. "That was the most interesting conversation I've witnessed in months."
"Don't start."
"I'm not starting anything. Just observing that you and Dr. Tall, Dark, and Grumpy have some serious chemistry."
"We have a mutually beneficial business arrangement." Even as I said it, I remembered the way his eyes had held mine.
"Keep telling yourself that." Maisie winked. "But I saw how you looked at him."
"How did I look at him?"
"Like you weren't sure whether to argue with him or kiss him."
Heat crept up my neck. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" She started clearing the table. "Either way, this should make for an interesting December. Try not to fall for your fake boyfriend, okay?"
"I'm not going to fall for him," I said firmly, gathering my belongings. "This is purely professional."
But as I left the Little Red Hen, I couldn't shake the memory of those brown eyes or the low rumble of his voice or the way his presence had filled that booth.
This was going to be a very interesting December.
BY FIVE-FIFTEEN THAT evening, the town square glowed with pre-Christmas magic. White lights spiraled up the massive fir tree, waiting to be illuminated. Vendors had set up booths selling hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts. A choir from the community church practiced carols near the gazebo.
I stood at the base of the tree, clipboard in hand, checking off last-minute details. Sound system: check. Mayor's speech notes: check. Emergency kit: check.
"You look like you're orchestrating a military campaign, not a tree lighting."
I spun around. Rhett approached through the crowd, hands tucked into the pockets of a black wool coat. He'd changed into dark jeans and a gray henley that somehow made him look both approachable and unfairly attractive.
"Preparation prevents panic," I said, tapping my clipboard. "When three hundred people show up expecting Christmas magic, you'd better deliver."
"Three hundred?" He glanced around the rapidly filling square. "Impressive."
"Starlight Bay takes Christmas seriously." I checked my watch. "Mayor speaks at six, choir performs at six-fifteen, we flip the switch at six-thirty."
"You've got this down to a science."
"I've had to. The foundation's reputation is riding on these events." I tucked my clipboard under my arm. "Ready to do this?"
"Lead the way."
I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow, aware of solid muscle beneath the coat. "We should probably look at ease together if we're selling this."
"Good point." He adjusted his stance slightly. "Any other rules?"
"Follow my lead. Smile when appropriate. Try not to look like you'd rather be anywhere else."
"I don't look like that."
"You absolutely do. Resting grumpy face."
His laugh surprised me—low and genuine, transforming his whole expression. "Resting grumpy face? Is that a medical condition?"
"Should be. I bet you self-diagnose regularly."
"Fair enough." He was still smiling. "I'll work on my people skills."
The next hour passed in introductions and conversations. Rhett handled it better than expected, his natural reserve coming across as dignified rather than cold. When people shared their stories, he listened with genuine attention.
When Mayor Isabelle Reeves took the stage, we stood near the back of the crowd. The square had filled to capacity—families, couples, children on parents' shoulders.
"This town really comes together," he observed quietly.
"That's what I love about it." I pulled my coat tighter against the December chill. "Small enough that everyone knows everyone, but that creates care instead of judgment. Well, most of the time."
"Most of the time?"
"Small towns mean everyone knows your business. By tomorrow morning, half of Starlight Bay will have heard we attended together."
"Does that bother you?"
I considered. "Not really. After Christmas, we go back to our separate lives."
"Right. Temporary." Something in his tone made me glance up, but his attention was fixed on the stage.
The choir began "O Come, All Ye Faithful," sung in four-part harmony that sent chills down my spine. Around us, people joined in. I found myself singing along, the familiar words comforting.
When I glanced over, I caught him watching me instead of the choir.
"What?" I asked softly.
"You really love this. All of it."
"I do." I didn't look away. "Creating moments where communities connect, where people feel hope... that matters."
"It does." His voice was low. "The world needs people who care about bringing light into dark places."
The moment hung between us. Then the crowd erupted as the mayor counted down, and the massive tree blazed to life with thousands of twinkling lights.
In the glow of that illumination, with Christmas music swelling around us, he smiled at me like maybe this crazy idea wasn't entirely terrible.
And I realized I was in serious trouble.
TWO HOURS LATER, AS the crowd thinned and vendors packed up, I finally had a moment to breathe.
"You did well tonight," Rhett said, appearing with two cups of hot chocolate. "Everything went smoothly."
"Thanks to volunteers and holiday magic." I accepted the cup gratefully. "But I'll take the compliment."
We stood quietly, watching the last families drift toward their cars. The square looked magical now, lights reflecting off snow falling in fat, lazy flakes.
"I should get home," he finally said. "Early surgery tomorrow, and I promised my mom I'd stop by."
"Of course." I walked with him toward the parking area, our footsteps crunching in the snow. "Thank you for coming. It really helped."
"It wasn't as painful as I expected." The corner of his mouth quirked. "You were right about getting used to this before our more high-pressure events."
We reached his car—a sleek black BMW—and stopped. Snow dusted his hair with white, his breath forming clouds in the cold air.
"We should establish some ground rules," I said.
"Such as?"
"Physical contact. Hand-holding obviously, maybe an arm around my waist for photos. But anything more—"
"Anything more crosses a line," he finished. "This is a professional arrangement, not a relationship."
"Right. Professional." I nodded, ignoring the small twist of disappointment even as I spoke. "No kissing, no mixed signals, no confusion."
"Agreed."
Snow continued falling around us, muffling the town's sounds. I should have said goodnight, walked away. Instead, I stood there looking up at this complicated, dour, yet unexpectedly kind man.
"Goodnight, Rhett," I said.
"Goodnight, Piper."
I watched him drive away, his taillights disappearing into the snowy night.
As I trudged to my car, I made myself a promise: no matter how attractive Rhett Thornton was, no matter how his rare smiles made my stomach flip or how much he cared about his mother made my heart ache—this was only temporary. An agreement to achieve a shared goal. A means to an end.
I absolutely would not fall for my fake boyfriend.
Even if he was already making that resolution impossibly difficult to keep.