Mika's rag hit the counter with a wet slap. I didn't look at her, but I could feel her stare boring into the side of my head.
"Devon, right?" I kept my voice level. "I've heard about you."
His face flushed. "Good things, I hope."
"Sure." I didn't elaborate. Didn't need to. My tone implied otherwise, and watching him squirm was its own reward. The man had the emotional intelligence of a golden retriever—all charm, no depth—and itshowed in the way his confident facade crumbled under minimal pressure.
"Well." Devon's composure cracked around the edges. "That's... unexpected. Good for you, Willow. Really."
He grabbed Vanessa's elbow and steered her toward the door with considerably less swagger than he'd entered with. The bell chimed behind them.
I counted to five. Then I dropped my arm and stepped back.
The loss of contact felt oddly significant. Her waist had been warm through her apron, her body fitting against my side in a way that had no business feeling so natural.
“And here I could’ve been asking for the friends and family discount this whole time,” I drawled.
Willow's face had gone crimson. "I'm so sorry. He was doing that thing where he pretends to care while actually rubbing my face in his success, and I just—your name came out before my brain caught up."
“I noticed.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. I panicked and you were the best option in the moment! Looking all..." She gestured vaguely at my suit, my face, my general existence. "You know. And he was being so smug about his perfect fiancée and his perfect life, and I wanted him to choke on it."
"Mission accomplished. He looked ready to swallow his tongue."
Behind us, I heard Mika emit a strangled noise—half gasp, half laugh. Willow shot her a look that could curdle milk. Mika held up both hands and retreated to the far end of the counter, but her gaze kept darting back to us with barely contained curiosity.
“God, I’m really sorry." Willow pressed her palms to her cheeks, mortified. "I'll tell him the truth. Track him down and explain that I'm a pathological liar who can't handle her ex's pity face. You can go back to your coffee and pretend this never happened. Actually, this is your fault for being here in the first place. You never stay this long.”
The fact that she noticed gave me a strange thrill. I ignored that red flag, choosing instead to latch onto an equally absurd idea that her announcement had given me. “What if you didn’t?”
Willow blinked. "Didn't what?"
"Tell him the truth."
"Are you suggesting I maintain this lie? Indefinitely? About us being together?"
My mouth curved in an indulgent smile. “Not indefinitely,” I corrected. “Three months.”
She stared at me as though I'd suggested she juggle flaming chainsaws. "Three months of pretending we're dating. You and me. Have you lost your mind?"
"Possibly, but your wild choice gave me an idea."
Her wary expression was valid. What I was about to propose was on the side of nuts. "What's this idea?"
I glanced toward Mika, who was now aggressively reorganizing syrup bottles while angling her body to catch every word. "Can we talk somewhere more private?"
Willow followed my gaze, sighed. "Mika, I'm taking a five."
"Take your time." Mika's voice was suspiciously cheerful. "I'll just be here. Not listening. At all."
Willow led me to the small hallway near the back, past the restrooms and the supply closet. Not exactly private, but at least Mika would have to physically follow us to eavesdrop.
"Have you heard of Richard Ashford?"
Recognition sparked in her eyes. "The developer guy?"
I nodded, impressed she knew the name. "He's choosing an architect for a project I’ve been trying to land for months. Three firms are competing, mine included.” I kept my voice level, professional. "Here's the thing—Ashford makes decisions based on more than portfolio quality. He values stability. Family values. That wholesome image that suggests reliability."
