7. The Proposal #2
"Because nothing says romance like watching someone knead dough at dawn," Maya muttered, but I caught the hint of amusement in her voice.
"Actually, I think it does." The words came out more honest than I intended. "Showing up when you work hardest. Being there for the unglamorous parts. That's what people do when they care."
Maya looked at me sharply, like she was trying to figure out if I was being genuine or just a good actor. I wasn't entirely sure myself.
"Fine," she said. "You can come by the bakery. But you're buying coffee, not just pretending to."
"Deal." I made a note on my phone. "What else? Are there island events this week? Things where we should be seen together?"
"There's a volunteer beach cleanup on Tuesday evening. The island council sponsors it monthly." Maya's voice was cautious. "That would be very visible. Everyone goes."
"Perfect. We'll go together."
"You're going to volunteer for beach cleanup?" The disbelief was clear.
"Why not? I grew up here. I care about the island." Even as I said it, I wondered if it was true. Did I care about Lopez Island, or just about the image of caring?
Maya seemed to be wondering the same thing. "You left twenty years ago and never came back. Forgive me if I'm skeptical about your sudden environmental consciousness."
The words stung, probably because they were accurate. "People change."
"Do they?" Her light brown eyes held mine. "Or do they just get better at hiding who they really are?"
The question hit too close to home. I thought about my mother's words last Christmas—you're so careful now, like you're afraid if you let go for one second, everything will fall apart. I thought about the angry eighteen-year-old who'd destroyed this woman's grandfather's bakery and then ran away.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "Maybe both."
Maya studied me for another long moment, then nodded. "Beach cleanup on Tuesday. I'll meet you there at 6 PM."
"I'll pick you up—"
"No." Her voice was firm. "We arrive separately and happen to work together. It looks more natural than you picking me up like an actual date."
She was right, and I hated that she was thinking more strategically about this than I was. "Okay. Separate arrivals."
"What about physical contact?" The question came out slightly awkward, and I saw color rise in her cheeks. "I mean—people expect couples to touch. Hold hands. That kind of thing."
My stomach did an uncomfortable flip. I hadn't thought that far ahead, hadn't considered what "dating" would actually look like in practice. "We should probably... I mean, it would look strange if we never..."
"I'm not kissing you," Maya said flatly.
"I wasn't suggesting—"
"Good. Because that's not part of this deal." She held up her hand, ticking off fingers. "Hand-holding in public. Maybe your arm around my shoulders. That's it. Nothing more intimate than what you'd do with a friend."
"Agreed." Relief flooded through me, though I couldn't quite name what I'd been worried about. "Boundaries are good. Clear expectations."
"And no real feelings," Maya added, her voice sharp. "That was the rule last night. This is strictly business. A transaction. You help me with my legal issues; I help you with your image problem. When it's done, we end it cleanly and go back to our separate lives."
"No real feelings," I repeated, and tried to ignore the small voice in my head asking why that needed to be a rule if neither of us was at risk of developing feelings.
Maya's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then back at me. "I need to get back to the booth. Tessa can only handle the Saturday rush for so long."
"Of course." I put my phone away. "So, we're doing this? Official?"
She took a breath, and I saw her square her shoulders like she was preparing for battle. "We're doing this. One week. Fake dating. Strictly professional."
"Strictly professional," I agreed.
We walked back toward the farmers market together, and I was acutely aware of the space between us—carefully maintained, deliberately distant. This was what strictly professional looked like. Clean boundaries. Clear expectations.
So, why did it feel like I was making a mistake?
As we approached the Honey & Hearth booth, I saw Tessa watching us with undisguised interest. Other vendors were glancing our way too, conversations pausing as people noticed Maya Romano walking with the corporate lawyer from Seattle.
This was it. The performance was starting.
I reached for Maya's hand without thinking—just a casual gesture, the kind of thing boyfriends did—and felt her stiffen slightly before she let me take it. Her hand was smaller than mine, rougher from years of working with dough, warm.
"Smile," I murmured, low enough that only she could hear. "We're supposed to look happy."
"I'm trying," she muttered back, but she smiled—a small, tight expression that probably didn't fool anyone who knew her well, but would pass from a distance.
We reached the booth, and Tessa's eyes went wide. "Well, well, well," she said, her voice bright with curiosity. "This is new."
"Tessa, this is Ethan Caldwell," Maya said, and I noticed she hadn’t let go of my hand. "We're... reconnecting."
"Reconnecting." Tessa's grin was massive. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
"We knew each other twenty years ago," I explained, falling into the narrative we'd prepared. "When I worked at Honey & Hearth. We ran into each other in Seattle at a coffee shop started talking."
"And one thing led to another?" Tessa looked between us, clearly intrigued.
"Something like that," Maya said, her voice carefully neutral.
A customer approached, asking about prices, and Maya had to let go of my hand to help them. I felt the absence immediately—the warmth replaced by cool air, the connection broken.
"I should let you work," I said. "But I'll see you Monday morning? For coffee?"
"6:30 AM," Maya confirmed, her tone professional. "Don't be late."
"I won't be." I started to leave, then turned back, playing to the small audience of vendors and customers who were definitely watching. "Thanks for giving me a chance, Maya. I know I don't deserve it."
Her eyes met mine, and for a second, I saw something flicker there—surprise, maybe, or confusion about whether I was acting or being honest.
I wasn't sure myself.
I walked away from the booth, feeling eyes on my back, hearing the whispers that would spread across the island by sunset: Did you see? Maya Romano and that lawyer from Seattle. They were holding hands. Apparently, they have history...
By tonight, everyone would know. The narrative would take root. And I would have exactly one week to fix Maya's legal problems, protect her bakery, and prove that coming back to Lopez Island hadn't been a complete disaster.
One week to pretend to be someone worth dating.
One week to become the person Manuel Romano had believed I could be.
One week before I had to leave and never come back—again.
My phone buzzed. A text from Richard Sterling: "Saw you at the farmers market with Maya. Interesting development. We should talk."
I stared at the message, my stomach sinking.
Interesting development. That was one way to put it.
Another way: I'd just agreed to fake-date the granddaughter of the man who'd given me a second chance, while working for the people trying to destroy her livelihood, with only seven days to fix everything before it all fell apart.
What could possibly go wrong?