I brush past her, slow enough she feels every inch of heat between us.
“But I’m yours for now,” I add without looking back.
She inhales sharply.
“And you,” I say, glancing at her over my shoulder, “are mine to help.”
Her lips part. Her cheeks flush. The spark between us roars. And for the first time since meeting her, I know with absolute certainty:
This fake engagement won’t stay fake for long.
Chapter Seven
Briar
Ilearn very quickly that afake fiancédoesn’t behave the way Saxon Cole behaves.
Fake fiancés don’t show up on your porch three evenings in a row like it’s a second job. They don’t bring bags of groceries. They don’t fix things without being asked. And they definitely don’t make your daughter look at them like they hung the moon.
But Saxon does all of it.
And the worst part?
I let him.
The first night he shows up after shift, he stands on my porch in uniform pants, a black T-shirt that should be illegal, and a bag of food in one hand.
“I didn’t ask you to come,” I blurt before my brain can edit.
“You didn’t have to,” he replies, stepping past me into my house like he belongs here. “You hungry?”
My stomach growls at the exact second Junie barrels in from the living room yelling, “CAPTAIN SAXON!”
He lifts her with one arm like she weighs nothing. “Hey, kid.”
Junie beams. “Are you my mom’s fiancé for real?”
My lungs stop working.
Saxon doesn't even blink. “For now.”
The confidence. The absolute lack of hesitation. It hits me so hard I nearly drop the mail in my hands.
Junie squeals and squirms out of his arms. “We’re making macaroni pictures! Come on!”
He sets the groceries down on the counter and follows her without even checking with me. Like he’s been doing this his whole life. Like he’s been in my house a hundred times.
Like this isn’t fake.
“Where’s your glue?” he asks Junie.
“In the red bin!”
He crouches beside her at the coffee table, big body folding into her tiny world so seamlessly it’s unfair. I stand in the doorway watching them, glued to the floor. He glances over his shoulder at me—just once, quick, but enough to steal every breath I have. Like he knows what he’s doing. Knows exactly how it affects me.
He goes back to helping Junie glue noodles into the shape of what I think is meant to be a dog but honestly looks like a potato with legs.
“Perfect,” he tells her, tone deep and warm.
