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“You don’t have to do it.”

“Yes, I do.” She glances toward the kitchen, obviously thinking about the community page posts. “The judges are already biased against me. I don’t have a choice. That’s the part that scares me. Not the holding hands.”

I nod. “Then we stay on our toes with a public story we keep as tight and brief as possible. You bake. I run interference. Nobody gets a confession they can screenshot or record.”

“I’ll try to remember to use your nickname.” She draws a breath. “You know I’m baking first thing tomorrow, and I’ll be in the working all day. We don’t have a lot of time to convince everyone we’re about to get hitched, and have no desire to go back to that kitchen. Let’s get out of here. What should we do for our first public date?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Timber Jack’s tonight?”

“Restaurant?”

“Bar, and we should practice.”

Lila blinks. “Practice?”

“Before we walk into a bar full of people who’ve known me my whole life. If we’re engaged, we should look like we’re comfortable together.” I hold out my hand, palm up, like I’m asking for a tool. “Come here.”

She stares at my open hand like it might bite her. Then she takes it. Her fingers are cold and smaller than I expected. I close my grip around hers and it feels like I’m surrendering, to what I’m not sure.

“Too tight,” she says. “It feels like you’re trying to crush a can.”

I loosen my hold as she steps close enough to me that I can smell the vanilla on her skin, peering up with those insanely pretty eyes. “If someone asks how we met, what do we say?”

“You walked into my mom’s shop and I insulted your shoes?”

“Seriously? You think people would buy that?”

“As I recall, you were wearing city heels.” Her cheeks flush pink, from the cold or from me, I can’t tell. “Or, we say we met at the Grizzly Grind. You ordered a coffee and I couldn’t stop looking at you.”

Her breath catches. “Is that the story or the truth?”

I lead her toward the door with her hand still in mine, and don’t answer. I’ll let her wonder.

Chapter six

I buckle in and try to pretend my pulse is not doing something stupid just because his thigh is two inches from mine.

Maya answers on the first ping of my text thread.

On the way to a place called Timber Jack’s. Fake engaged to the mountain man. Do NOT squeal.

Three dots. Then:

Squealing! Show me his face. Snap a pic of his hands. Send the ring! Give me all of it!

I type back with my thumbs, glancing at Gideon’s profile in the dash light. He has one huge hand on the wheel like he’s ready to annihilate anything that gets in our way, and his lips could’ve been created to make me forget every recipe I know by heart.

There is no ring. This is business. Pie title. Book deal. Reality-show director off his back. Calm down.

Maya:

I refuse. Is he hot in an “I could throw you over my shoulder and you’d thank me” way or just regular good-looking?

I bite the inside of my cheek:

The first one. Unfortunately.

Maya: