Perfectly Pretend (Perfect Crush #5)

Chapter 1

ONE

Scarlett

I have a theory.

If someone says, “things can’t possibly get worse,” what they actually mean is they have no imagination. Because things can always get worse—sometimes to the point that you want to crawl under a blanket and stay there.

Ask me how I know.

For instance, right now I’m standing outside the Magnolia Brew Coffee Shop, holding a letter from our landlord that I’ve now read three times, hoping the numbers are wrong.

Our lease is doubling. Doubling. Like we’re suddenly swimming in lottery money instead of drowning in bills.

I shove the letter into my hoodie pocket and push through the cafe door, where the smell of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon reminds me of the scent of my father’s shirt at the end of the day.

We were the first coffee shop in Sully’s Beach, the sleepy beachside town near Charleston, and this place has been my home since I was ten, when my parents opened the Magnolia Brew.

By age fifteen, I was on dish duty, working my way up to each job when I proved myself ready—cashier, server, barista, and now cafe manager.

After the Carolina Crushers built their hockey arena nearby, our business exploded overnight, and it felt like the world was our oyster.

But then Dad was diagnosed with cancer, and we’ve been barely hanging on ever since.

I thought we had turned a corner when his new treatments started working, but the medical bills are crushing us.

And with Dad sick and Mom wrapped up in his care, I’m the only one keeping this place going.

We still talk every few days, but always about Dad’s latest labs, his next appointment, or whether he’s keeping his strength up.

I rarely bring up the cafe anymore—Mom has enough to carry, and truthfully, I’m not sure she’d have the bandwidth to hear one more problem.

“Thank God you’re here,” Gabriella mutters under her breath after handing a latte to a customer. “The high school kid who works here is a no-show again, and it feels like I’m competing on some high-pressure barista reality show.”

Gabriella is my perky, redheaded best friend who sometimes covers for me at the cafe when I’m desperate.

Her real job is athletic trainer for the Carolina Crushers hockey team, which makes sense given that she played college hockey.

This morning I called her in a hurry and she showed up without hesitation.

I drop my backpack on the counter, then turn around to help. “I’m so sorry I’m late. How bad was it this morning?”

She slides a cup toward me so I can make a cappuccino for myself.

“Not bad, aside from a slight panic when we ran out of cinnamon rolls and banana-nut muffins at the same time. But so far, nobody has complained.” She hands me a poppy seed muffin, knowing I probably skipped breakfast. “How’s your dad? ”

“Fine, now,” I say, tamping down the espresso grounds. “He called at five a.m. to tell me he’d fallen again and was at the ER with Mom.”

Gabriella’s eyes widen. “Was he hurt?”

“No. Just side effects from his new medicine. But I’ve just lost two hours of my life in a day I can’t afford.”

I scan the cafe, which is packed with our usual morning crowd. In the corner booth, Brax MacPherson, team captain and local hockey star, is talking with rookie goalie Miles Morgan, who keeps sneaking glances at Gabriella—very obvious ones—that Gabriella isn’t acknowledging.

“Why is Rookie Goalie looking at you like that?” I tie an apron around my waist. “I thought you were dating Tattoo Guy from Boots and Buckles.”

“Ew, no.” She crinkles up her nose in disgust. “He was really into clowns. And not like, cute, birthday-party clowns either.” Gabriella shudders slightly. “I’m officially single again.”

I nod toward the goalie. “So what’s the deal with Miles?” I probe, starting on the next order so Gabriella can take a breath.

She leans against the counter. “Nothing!” The pitch of her voice suggests it’s definitely something. “He’s just cute.”

“You mean, cute like a puppy, right?” I pry, because Gabriella has a soft spot for gorgeous, athletic types.

Her face gets that dreamy, glazed-over expression. “You know I have a thing for the good ones.”

“No, Gabriella. Absolutely not.” I give her the look—the one that’s gotten her out of too many bad dating decisions the last few years. “You cannot date a player. You’re their athletic trainer. That’s like a doctor hooking up with a patient.”

Her face falls. I know I’m being unsentimental here, but there’s too much at stake, and Gabriella jumps from guy to guy like the norovirus spreading through a preschool classroom. That’s kind of her thing—to not be a thing for long.

Gabriella huffs out an annoyed sigh. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Hey.” I nudge her shoulder lightly. “As your friend, I’m just watching out for you.

You need to focus less on your next romantic distraction and more on your job.

Becoming the team’s trainer was your dream after you stopped playing hockey.

And deep down, you know that dating Miles could ruin that whole dream. ”

Then I say more to myself than to her, “Just like outrageous rent could make me lose mine.”

She frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“This came today.” I slap the envelope on the counter.

Gabriella skims the news, then tosses the letter onto the counter. “This is ridiculous! Doesn’t he know about your dad?”

“Probably. But that doesn’t mean he has an actual heart.” I bite my lip, focusing on the steady drip of coffee and the rich, bittersweet aroma of fresh espresso. “I don’t have a clue what we’re going to do, because somehow I need to double our profits. And that should’ve happened months ago.”

I turn and check our bakery case. Except for one lone poppy seed muffin, it’s a ghost town in there.

Normally, this would be a good problem. But not today, when I have literally zero time to whip up another batch.

Mom used to help with the baking, but these days, she’s always at an appointment with Dad.

“Please tell me we have blueberry muffins in the back.”

“Sold out an hour ago,” Gabriella announces. “The Crushers decimated our entire stock. Speaking of Crushers…guess who was in here at seven sharp, asking where you were?”

My stomach turns over. Not again. Why does he have to show up like clockwork? It’s almost like he wants to annoy me just by sitting at the same table every morning, right in full view where I steam milk.

I shake my head and play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you do. Your not-so-secret admirer who comes in every morning.”

“He’s not my anything,” I state flatly. “We’re friends.”

Brendan Marco used to come in during summers when we were teenagers, back when his family stayed at the Marco beach house. He’d sit at the corner table for hours, pretending to read, and I’d pretend not to notice him watching me over the top of his book.

She tilts her head. “Friends who are secretly pining for each other?”

“No, just friends.” I’ve said it enough times that I’m tired of it. “He’s had twelve years to ask me out. Twelve, Gabriella. If that isn’t an obvious sign, I don’t know what is.”

But the worst part is that I still notice him, every single morning, when he walks through that door with his backwards cap on and sits at the table near the barista counter. I notice everything; I’ve just gotten good at pretending I don’t.

I measure coffee beans into the grinder. “Besides, I don’t have time for dating. I need to figure out how we’re going to bring in more money to keep the cafe in business.”

Gabriella leans closer. “You know what could solve all your financial problems? The Ice House Arena is looking for a new food vendor. It’s what you’re already doing now—just expanded to a new location. Imagine the foot traffic during game nights.”

I stop, mid-scoop. “How am I supposed to convince Rafael Marco to let a local cafe owner set up shop in his fancy arena? I have no experience with sports venues.”

“Easy.” Her face lights up like she just had a brilliant idea. “Talk to Brendan. He could put you in touch with the right people. His uncle owns the arena.”

I shake my head. “Anyone but him.” Even the thought of asking Brendan for a favor feels wrong. We don’t have that kind of friendship anymore—not since the night back in high school that ruined everything between us.

Besides, I know how his world works. The Marco family does nothing small with their lavish estate, charity galas, and press events.

Brendan’s uncle built a sports empire and has nothing to show for it personally except a divorce and a hockey team he’s married to instead.

His world and mine have never actually overlapped.

They just look like they do from the outside.

“Things are weird enough between us since the incident at last year’s Crushers Christmas party.”

I start the grinder as Gabriella gives me a mischievous smirk. “You mean when Brendan serenaded you at the Christmas party after Jaxon brought you as his date?”

“That wasn’t serenading—more like public humiliation after he’d had one too many. Slightly endearing public humiliation, maybe, but still.” I wipe the coffee grounds off the counter, just to avoid the questions that will inevitably follow.

Gabriella tilts her head. “Or maybe seeing you with one of his hockey players made him realize what he was missing. You know Coach Marco doesn’t like to share.”

Coach Marco. I’m still not used to Brendan’s new title or the way my heart leaps in my chest when I hear it.

Brendan Marco is off-limits for so many reasons, I could write a freaking book on it.

He’s my brother’s former best friend. The team owner’s nephew.

The guy I foolishly kissed during summer break in high school.

And the jerk who ghosted me afterward. Even his stint in the Marines didn’t erase the awkwardness between us.

When Brendan returned to Sully’s Beach, we never quite figured out how to be normal around each other again.

More than a few times, I’ve caught him studying me—mostly with that stern expression that’s become his signature stare.

Sure, he hangs around this place with his players, but he doesn’t really talk to me.

He mostly treats me like I’m invisible, except when he needs coffee.

“Jealousy reveals itself in many forms, my friend,” Gabriella says, winking. “Desperate pining is one of them.”

“A stupid serenade is hardly a sign of desperate pining.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not like Brendan to let loose like that. That man is always in control.”

I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She props a hand on her hip and counts off her fingers. “Former Marine, assistant coach, so dedicated he probably does pushups every morning just for kicks. For him to humiliate himself over you like that? That’s not just the champagne. That’s something else entirely.”

I want to believe her. But hope is a fragile thing, and Brendan Marco is not someone to take a chance on.

I toss the rag in the sink, then rinse my hands. “Even if it were, Brendan and I could never work. I’m a Rossi. He’s a Marco. Our family business is currently on the brink of losing our space. He’s the rising-star coach of the Carolina Crushers. He couldn’t understand what that’s like.”

Her brows lift. “But you guys kissed once!”

Yeah, once. Right before he disappeared. “We were young.” I turn back to the counter, studying the envelope from my landlord. “But you’re right, I need that vendor contract too much to let ancient history get in the way.”

“Well, money isn’t everything.”

I hold up the letter. “Tell that to my landlord.”

The bell above the door chimes, and Gabriella turns around as Isabella Marco enters. “Well, speak of the devil’s mother,” she mutters under her breath.

I glance up as Brendan’s mom sweeps into the cafe, dark curls bouncing, her brightly colored floral dress turning heads as she moves through the room greeting everyone by name.

Her Puerto Rican heritage is striking with her dark eyes, high cheekbones, and sun-kissed skin.

It’s obvious where Brendan got his looks.

She saves her biggest smile for me. She and my mom have always had a special connection, and somehow Isabella has made me feel part of it too.

Gabriella leans closer and lowers her voice. “Do you want me to take her order?”

“I can handle it.” I put on a warm smile as she approaches. “Mrs. Marco, what can I get you?”

“I’ll take my usual. And please, Scarlett, call me Isabella.

We’re practically family.” She beams at me, and something ripples in my stomach.

She’s never told me to call her Isabella before, even as my mom’s friend.

I know my mother was a big help to her after Brendan’s dad died.

That kind of thing bonds people for life.

“Sure…Isabella,” I say, turning to get her coffee. Black with no cream, just like Brendan orders. She keeps her gaze on me, like she’s waiting for me to say something. “How is your day going?”

“Oh, just fantastic!” she bursts out. “Especially now that Brendan finally told us the wonderful news.”

My hand freezes on the coffee cup. “Oh? What news?”

He probably got another promotion. Or maybe a new girlfriend. That would absolutely make his mother’s day.

“He said you were coming!” Then she leans across the counter, like this secret is just between us. “We are so thrilled.”

I blink at the steaming liquid in my hand. What did I agree to? When? I know I’ve been tired lately, but not agree-to-major-life-events tired.

The cup suddenly feels unsteady in my hand. “I’m sorry. Coming to what, exactly?”

“The wedding, of course! Brendan told us you agreed.”

I stare at her in disbelief. Apparently, I have RSVP’d to a wedding. A wedding I didn’t even know about until a few seconds ago.

I close my eyes and shake my head. “Um…whose wedding?”

Her eyes widen. “ My daughter, Carmen!”

I most definitely didn’t receive an invitation to a Marco family wedding.

Isabella bobs her head, like it makes perfect sense. “Carmen was so worried her brother would be the only one without a date. Thank you, Scarlett, for doing us this favor.”

Wait, what?

I blink rapidly. “Favor?”

“For my son,” she answers. “He told us you’re his plus-one.”

My stomach drops.

She thinks I’m Brendan’s date.

Oh. Freaking. No.

Remember my theory about things always getting worse?

I really hate being right.