Chapter 15
Asher
We leave the lake behind, the trail narrowing beneath our feet.
The hush of the water fades into birdsong and wind through the trees.
Charlotte walks beside me, her hair caught by the occasional breeze, sunlight dancing across her cheekbones.
There’s a softness to her now—less guarded than I’ve seen her all week. I file that away.
I keep my hands loose in my pockets, forcing myself to not look at her every damn second. The mission still stands—protect, observe, report—but out here, in this pocket of quiet, it’s easy to forget about strategy. About why we’re here at all.
“You know,” she says, voice light, “that was a good idea.”
I glance her way, and damn if it doesn’t hit me again—how natural she looks here, out of the designer clothes, away from the careful angles of her family’s expectations. Just Charlotte. And she’s beautiful.
“Sometimes the simplest things help the most,” I say, meaning every word.
She bumps my arm with her elbow, teasing. “You sound like a wise old mountain man.”
I huff a laugh. “Old? I’ll take wise. You can keep the old.”
She grins, eyes sparkling. “Fine. Rugged and worldly, then.”
“Better.” I let my gaze linger on her mouth for just a second too long. Idiot. Control yourself. But she catches it—her breath hitches. Subtle, but I’m trained to read everything.
I refocus, scanning the trail ahead. Old habits.
“You always this good at skipping rocks?” she asks.
“Had a lot of practice.” I keep my tone easy, but part of me’s already down a rabbit hole—deployments, downtime, men killing time any way they could. “Sometimes keeping your hands busy is all that keeps your head on straight.”
She looks at me then—really looks. There’s warmth in her eyes, understanding. It hits harder than it should.
But before it sinks too deep, I tip my head toward her and say lightly, “You weren’t bad. We’ll make a pro out of you yet.”
She lifts her chin. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Good,” I murmur. I want her to hold me to more than that, and that thought shouldn’t even be in my head.
We round a bend and the resort comes into view, rooftops gleaming against the sky. Reality creeps back in. Family. Watchful eyes. An engagement we’re pretending to live.
“You forget it’s pretend sometimes,” I find myself saying. The words slip out before I can stop them.
She halts mid-step, looking up at me. “Yeah.” Her voice is soft. “Sometimes.”
It takes everything I have to look away first, to shove those words down deep where they belong. “Let’s go,” I say, voice rougher than intended. “Can’t have your fiancé showing up late.”
As we near the main path, voices carry from the terrace. Nancy Sinclair, Charlotte’s mother, her grandmother. I spot Wade’s father too, which triggers an instant uptick in awareness. No sign of Wade himself, but the man’s name is stamped in the back of my mind. Always a threat.
Charlotte steps instinctively closer to me as we approach. I angle my body slightly, shielding her without thinking. When we hit the edge of the terrace, I slide an arm naturally around her waist and lean down, murmuring near her ear.
“Back in character,” I say softly. “You okay?”
She nods once. “Got it.”
We step onto the terrace, perfectly timed smiles in place. The matriarchs beam at us.
“There they are,” Margaret says brightly. “Such a sweet couple, always off adventuring.”
“Needed some fresh air,” Charlotte replies, voice even, though her fingers thread tightly through mine as we stand together. I squeeze gently. Reassurance. She holds on.
“Everyone’s heading to the beach this afternoon,” her grandmother chimes in. “We’ll see you two there?”
I glance at Charlotte, reading the subtle tension in her shoulders. I’ve seen her take enough deep breaths this week to know she could use a break—from all of them.
I lower my mouth to her ear again. “Say you have plans. Tell her we’re going into town. Magnolia Ridge.”
She blinks, then smiles sweetly at the group. “Actually, Asher thought we might explore town a bit. Magnolia Ridge, right?”
I meet her gaze, lips twitching. Good girl.
“Perfect idea,” I say, louder now, voice warm. “Wanted to show her the local spots.”
Nancy’s eyes narrow for a split second before smoothing out. “Well, you two enjoy yourselves.”
I nod, then gently place my hand on the small of Charlotte’s back, steering her down the wide stone steps toward the parking area.
The moment we’re out of earshot from the others, I feel the shift in her body—the way her spine uncoils, shoulders dropping like she’s finally exhaled the breath she’s been holding.
“You planned that?” she asks, glancing up at me, her voice tinged with amusement and something a little like wonder.
I flash her a smirk. “Adapt and overcome.”
She lets out a soft laugh, the kind that sounds real—not for show, not for her family, not for the role we’re both pretending to play. Just… her. “You’re scary good at this.”
“Rugged and worldly,” I say, holding up an invisible badge of honor. “Try to keep up.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. That’s a win. I reach the truck first and pull open the passenger door for her. She pauses just slightly before climbing in, tossing me a mock-stern look.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” she says.
“Too late,” I mutter with a grin, closing the door behind her.
By the time I slide into the driver’s seat, she’s already buckling up, her fingers moving gracefully, hair cascading over one shoulder. There’s a light flush on her cheeks, like the weight of expectation has loosened its grip.
“I meant it,” I say, my voice quieter now, more serious as I start the engine. “Let’s take the day off. Just you and me. No prying eyes. No pretending.”
She turns toward me, meeting my gaze. There’s something unguarded in her eyes—still cautious, but softer now, more open. “I’d like that,” she says simply.
I nod, shifting the truck into gear. As we pull out onto the winding road away from the resort, every mile we put between us and the pressure of this fake engagement feels like a breath of fresh air.
The trees blur past the windows, the hills of Magnolia Ridge rolling out ahead of us like a quiet promise.
Charlotte sits angled toward me, one leg tucked beneath her as she watches the world pass by. The sunlight spills across her skin through the window, highlighting the strands of gold in her hair, the curve of her cheek, the thoughtful set of her mouth.
I steal a glance at her when she’s not looking.
And God help me—I almost forget this is all fake.
She’s beautiful. But it’s more than that. She’s real. Smart. Sharp. The way she’s handled her family this week. It’s impressive. The kind of impressive that sneaks up on you and stays lodged in your chest long after it should’ve passed.
It’s dangerous.
We don’t talk much on the drive, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s that kind of silence that settles between two people who are still figuring each other out, who’ve stopped trying to fill the space with noise just for the sake of it.
By the time we reach the small downtown stretch of Magnolia Ridge, the air has changed. The pressure is gone, replaced by something easy. Simple.
I park the truck near a row of charming storefronts—brick facades, painted signs, flower boxes beneath the windows. It’s the kind of town that looks like it belongs in a Christmas movie.
I turn to Charlotte just as she opens her door. “We’ll blend in here. No one’s watching.”
She smirks. “Unless my grandmother sent a drone.”
I laugh. “Even if she did, I’ve got counter-surveillance measures.”
“Of course you do,” she says, stepping down from the truck.
I join her on the sidewalk, and for a second, I hesitate. Then I reach for her hand.
She looks at me.
I expect her to roll her eyes or resist. But instead, she threads her fingers through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It’s not for show.
It’s not because we’re pretending.
She just… does it.
And damn it if that doesn’t hit me harder than I expected.
We walk down the street, hand in hand, toward a coffee shop that smells like cinnamon and roasted espresso. A couple of locals smile and nod our way. There’s no performance here. No pressure. No need to prove anything.
For the first time in days, I feel like we’re not playing parts.
We’re just us.
And maybe this whole thing doesn’t have to be fake anymore.
Maybe it never was.