"Yeah," says Oscar, "Old fucking Mayor Wilkinson revoked my pawn license yesterday afternoon. Had to shut down early and try to get my ass here first thing in the morning."
"Huh?" says Tess.
Oscar shakes his head. "It's ridiculous. Says the police department got a couple reports of stolen tool serial numbers coming out of my shop."
"Is that true?" I ask.
"Hell no. Every damn serialized item I sell goes through a mandatory 30-day waiting period. As required by Tennessee state law."
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem is, Wilkinson is a corrupt old man who holds grudges."
"He does?" asks Tess. I glance at her, and she looks worried. She always tends to worry like that, about things that she can't control, instead of just dealing with them if they happen.
"Damn right," says Oscar. "This isn't the first time. It's all 'cause I had a little fender-bender with his daughter a couple years back. Even though she was at fault."
I chuckle. "He didn't like that, huh? What a limp old fuck."
"You're damn right about that." He pauses. "But enough about me. The hell are you two here for? He hassling you too?"
I chuckle again. "Actually," I say, almost spilling the beans on our fake marriage before stopping myself short. "Actually, we're… tying the knot."
Just saying those words is about as hard as deadlifting ten plates. Hope I managed to keep a straight face.
"Aw, shit," says Oscar, "I knew it!"
Tess laughs nervously. "Yeah, uh, the entire town had us figured out. We were, uh, keeping in touch while Hunter was gone. It was supposed to be a big surprise when he got back. Finally, it's happening!"
I grind my teeth together and I'm on fucking edge. This is going to take some getting used to.
"That's right," I say, trying to contort my face into an appropriate expression. "We're getting hitched! Finally. It's… thrilling."
"Well, congrats, you love birds," says Oscar. Tess grabs my hand and puts it in her lap, holding her hand over mine. It feels both strangely familiar and completely foreign. It's definitely way too intimate, but I guess this is what she meant by acting. I brush my thumb over the back of her hand, just enough to sell it to Oscar, and then I stop.
My heart pounds inside my chest and I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. This shouldn't be having any kind of an effect on me.
Then our number gets called, even though Oscar was here before us. He sighs. "I guess in this town, marriage is higher priority than business."
"Sounds about right for this old hick village," I say. "Sorry to cut you in line."
Tess and I walk up to the counter. I don't recognize the old lady working it, but she smiles wide at us.
"Let me guess. Here to get married?"
"That's right!" says Tess, sounding chipper.
"Ohhh, congratulations," says the old woman, reaching over the counter to grab Tess's hand. "I just love it when this happens. There are so few young people in this town, it only happens a couple times a year! Hey Delores," she calls out toward the back room, "Come out here, we got a happy new couple!"
Delores comes out, and we find out the old woman manning the counter is named Gracie, and then all the damn people waiting in line are smiling and buzzing over us and waiting to see us sign on the dotted line.
I try to keep my face fixed in a permanent smiling position, and by the time we actually get the shit signed and notarized, I feel like my jaw is going to fall off my face.
"Thank you everybody," I grunt, and I must not sound happy enough, because Tess elbows me in the side. Someone asks me about a reception. "No gifts necessary," I say, getting desperate. "We've gotta run!"
Outside the courthouse, we're back on Main Street and Tess can't stop giggling. "The whole town is going to know about this by tomorrow."
"Yep."
"Oh, don't be such a grouch," says Tess, pinching my cheek and giggling. Then she stops short, and I whirl around to see what could possibly be happening now.
"Did you get me a ring?" she exclaims.
I groan. "Stop fucking around. Let's get back home before we get accosted by every old geezer this side of the Smokies."
"Oh, lighten up," says Tess. "Have a little fun."
"You're having too much fun."
"Fine," she says, getting a little bit pouty. "I still want a ring."
"Fine, I say, looking both ways before we cross at the light. "I'll get you a ring. Candy. Or maybe glass."
Over the next week, things happen so fast it's a blur. The loan approval comes back in just under 48 hours, so the project is a go. We spend a few days with realtors, touring the available retail spaces in Maple Ridge. Eventually Tess sets her heart set on a little spot she calls "cute," an old, now-defunct donut shop right next to Eddie's Golden Dragon restaurant and Oscar's pawn shop. Before I even know it, we sign the lease, and I am officially a married co-owner of Maple Ridge's first-ever bagel shop.
First-ever rainbow bagel shop, that is.
And nobody will shut the fuck up about us. When we're walking back to her apartment after signing the lease, a random woman I've never met in my life stops us on Main Street.
"Oh, it's the happy new couple," she says, and I just smile like I know I'm supposed to.
She leans into Tess, and whispers loud enough for me to hear, "You bagged yourself quite a hunk of man."
Tess blushes and I just grumble. "If only she were so lucky," I say. The woman laughs, thinking I'm making a joke.
We're standing next to a statue of John Ruth, one of the immigrants who originally founded Maple Ridge.
"I'd just love to get a photograph of you two kissing by the statue," says the woman.
Tess and I look at each other, and we have an "oh-shit" moment. Don't get me wrong, I still can't stop thinking about sinking my cock into that mouth, but a kiss on the lips?
That's more than I bargained for in this fake marriage. A whole hell of a lot more than I bargained for.
And I'll never fucking admit it, but I'm a little concerned about what a kiss might mean. But we have no fucking choice. We have to act, and Tess knows it just the same as I do.
"Sure," I say to the woman, clearing my throat. "Perfectly happy to do that for you."
Tess and I pose by the status, while the woman takes her camera phone out of her purse and holds it up. "Ready?" she asks. "Say cheese and kiss!"
I look down at Tess, and say through clenched teeth, "It's an act."
She nods.
I wrap my arms around her and press my lips to hers.
Her scent floods me, and all of the sudden everything else is blocked out, and I crush my lips into her.
She kisses me back just as hard.
Fuck. Fuck.
9
Tess
"I can't believe this is mine," I say, standing on the sidewalk. I clutch the door keys in my fist and beam like the sun. In front of me stands the retail space for a new restaurant.
My new restaurant.
It's such a cute little space, tucked right in between Eddie's Golden Dragon restaurant and Oscar's pawn shop. Somehow I never noticed it before, but now that it's mine, I think it's absolutely the perfect spot. And I don't know how I ever missed it.
"It's good," says Hunter, standing next to me, "but you overpaid on the square footage, and the kitchen installation work is a complete rip-off."
I grit my teeth. "You know, can you just let me have this? For once?"
Things moved fast over the last week, and Hunter put a lot of work into helping, but he keeps pissing me off. Little disagreements keep blowing up into big ones, and he just has to be such a damn perfectionist on everything. He spent almost six hours cataloging every defect he could find in the interior, and in the end, it barely saved $50 a month on the $2800 rent.
I wonder if it was a mistake to think we could work together. When he signed on to be a co-owner, I thought he was going to step back and let me take care of everything. But he
's taking an active role. Too active. He's supposed to be in charge of researching industrial bagel boilers for the kitchen, but he refuses to keep me in the loop. He just tells me to "trust him."
The most annoying part is, I feel like he's always one step ahead of me, even though this is supposed to be my project. He just doesn't know when to back off.
No. That's actually not the worst part. The worst part is that despite all of it, I still can't stop thinking about that kiss we shared for the camera. It's been a week and neither one of us have talked about it, but I can still taste him on my tongue.
"You know," he says, "you need someone to take a hard line. To point out the flaws, and push for tougher negotiations. That's what business is about."
"That's one way of doing business," I say, my face turning red. "Remind me which one of us has a business degree?"
He grins, and I can just barely stand looking at that cocky face. "Maybe there are some things you can't learn in school."
"Maybe there's more than one way to skin the cat," I say. "Maybe friendliness and cooperation is an equally valid strategy as hard negotiations and conflict."
He shrugs. "You think your way is better, prove it."
Ugh. He just can't help turning everything into a competition.
I roll my eyes at him and fix them back on the lovely store facade. He's not going to take the wind out of my sails. No matter how annoying and sexy he may be.
"Free sample?"
The girl hands me a small white paper cup full of divine-smelling chili and a tiny plastic spoon. I taste it and it's incredible. I want another one right away.
Free samples have always been my favorite part of shopping at Costco, and that's where Hunter and I are now. We rented a van and drove it into Springville here to pick up a bunch of supplies for the restaurant.
"And you, sir?" The girl smiles and hands Hunter an identical cup. He grins and winks at her as he takes his chili, and a pang of self-consciousness hits me. She can't be more than 21, and everything about her is so smooth and perky. I realize that a man like Hunter could easily have a girl like this, and I can't help feeling a little jealous. Even though I'm the one married to him. Well, technically married.
"Let's go," I grumble, pushing the cart away from the free sample table.
We fill the cart with bulk supplies like disposables, condiments, and cleaning supplies. We even get a cash register for the store.
In the checkout line, I cringe a little at the total. $1345.50. Even though I have a $250,000 credit line from the credit union, I know it's going to go fast. Opening a business involves even more expenses than I thought.
I pull out my business credit card, and I'm taken aback when Hunter pushes my hand down and pulls out his own wallet. "I'll get this," he says.
I frown. "What?"
"You have a lot of expenses. I've got more money saved up than I'm ever gonna need. This is a gift."
"No," I say. The cashier, a young kid who can't be more than 18, looks uncomfortable. "If I wanted a hand-out, I would've taken Meg's money."
The people behind us in line shoot us impatient looks.
"A one-time thing," he says, and he hands his card to the cashier. "Put it on mine." The poor cashier is practically sweating bullets. I snatch Hunter's card back out of the cashier's hand and thrust it into Hunter's chest. His very muscular, sexy chest, which looks infuriatingly delicious under that jersey knit t-shirt he's wearing. I hand my business card to the cashier.
"Put it on this one," I say, my voice hard, and the cashier barely squeaks out a "Yes, ma'am."
Hunter laughs, sliding his card back into his wallet and jamming it in his back pocket. He shakes his head.
Over the next few days, we work on the building's exterior. It's a cute little space, but the truth is, it needs a lot of work. And I want to the outside to look perfect, to attract as many customers as possible when we open for business.
I decide to call it the "Rainbow Café," and I have a shop in Springville make a custom neon sign. The afternoon after we take delivery of the sign, Hunter's up on a ladder drilling brackets into the brick facade, and I'm painting the trim around the doors and windows.
A guy strolls by who I don't recognize. He has to be pushing 40, and his blonde hair is a little wispy and thin up top. The type who used to be a looker, but never got the memo that he's gone over the hill.
He wolf-whistles at me, and when I look over my shoulder, he makes an obscene gesture with his hands and tongue. I blush red and drop my paintbrush handle-first in the tray of paint at my feet. I'm about to tell the man to take his rudeness and shove it, when Hunter slides down his ladder like a fireman down a pole for a three-alarm fire.
Hunter is shirtless, and his ripped abs, arms, and shoulders glisten with sweat in the afternoon sun. He beelines straight for our unwelcome visitor. "You have something to fucking say?" says Hunter.
"Who are you?" asks the guy, backing off the sidewalk into the street. "You a hired hand? This ain't any of your business, so fuck back off to that ladder where you're paid to be."
I wipe sweat off my forehead with my sleeve, and retreat further into the shade under the store's awning. I've never been shy of dealing with cat-callers. I had to be, because Roger didn't like confrontations with anyone. So it's a strange and novel experience to have a man—a husband, no less—who's actually brave enough to stand up for me.
Hunter jerks his thumb backwards over his shoulder, pointing at me. "That's my wife," he says. I don't bother to correct him on the technicality that I'm his fake wife. "You got anything else to say to her, you creepy fuck?"
Hunter keeps stepping closer to the guy, and the guy keeps stumbling backward further into the street. Good thing for him there's not much traffic in Maple Ridge. One passing car swings out wide into the other lane to miss him, and honks its horn.
"No, man."
"That's what I fucking thought." Hunter inches closer to the guy.
"I didn't know."
"So you just like making perverted gestures to random women on the street?" Even from my vantage point under the awning, I can see Hunter's almost nose-to-nose with this guy.
"N-no."
Hunter puts both his palms on the guy's chest and pushes him backwards, further toward the other side of the street. They're almost out of earshot now, but I can vaguely make out Hunter's words. "Get fucking lost." He keeps pushing the guy backwards until he's completely on the other side of Main Street. I see Hunter point down the street, and the guy sheepishly starts walking in the direction he's been ordered to go.
Hunter returns to our side of the street and joins me under the awning. I can't keep my eyes off his ripped body, and I can't remember the last time I felt so safe or protected. "You really don't need to do that," I say, "I can take care of myself."
"Can't help it," he says.
I like the idea of Hunter as a protector.
"Well, thanks," I say sheepishly. I lean up and give him another peck on the cheek before I can even think about it.
Damn, I don't know why I keep doing that. The first time was just spur-of-the-moment, but the second time… and now the third?
When I pull away from his cheek, we make eye contact, and it lingers. My eyes flutter down to his lips, which look soft and full, and not chapped at all even though he's out here sweating in the sun.
"I've got to finish this," says Hunter, breaking his gaze and looking up toward the brackets that are half-mounted on the storefront. "It's a real bitch, these drill bits aren't lasting long in that old brick."
He climbs back up the ladder and gets back to work. I pick up my paintbrush out of the paint tray, wipe the handle on the painter's smock I'm wearing over my clothes, and get back to work. But I just can't stop thinking about Hunter. I should be completely focused on myself and my new business right now, and moving on from my divorce. I definitely should not be spending any time thinking about Hunter Thorne… and I definitely shouldn't be fake married to him right now.
>
But I am. Oh, yes, I am, and I can't help feeling like things are starting to get complicated.
Over the next couple days, many of Maple Ridge's residents stop by the café to give us their well-wishes. Eddie and Oscar stop by at least a couple times a day. Eddie keeps bringing us healthy steamed chicken and vegetables with garlic sauce from his restaurant, and Oscar keeps pulling through for Hunter by loaning him tools he needs. Sometimes I dream about getting out of this small town, but it's times like these that make me glad I've stayed. Everybody here looks out for one another and goes out of their way to help. Even if it's because they think Hunter Thorne and I are actually married.
Hunter may be a bossy prick, but whenever I stand up to him, he seems to get the point. I can tell he's a good man, and maybe, just maybe, we can actually make a decent team together.
The real test will be when we finally open the doors, and all the stresses of daily business operations start. Hunter still has to fulfill his part of the contract, which means we'll have to work together for a whole month.
I think we can make it work. What I'm not sure about, is whether I'm going to be able to resist jumping his bones for that long.
And if I do, I'm not sure about what it will mean.
10
Hunter
A couple days later, we sit inside the unopened café, taking a break from construction. The exterior façade is almost finished, and last night was the first time we flipped on the neon sign I hung up. It's a silly damn sign, "Rainbow Café" surrounded by curly q's and neon coffee cups and coffee beans. Never thought in my damn life that I'd be involved in a project like this, but even if I do think the whole idea is fruity, I can still take pride in a job well done. And that's how I'm going to make it through the next month.
After that, I'm getting the hell out of here. My bike is all ready to go, and Tess even ordered brand new saddle bags and luggage for me from Amazon Prime. They're lashed to the bike, and I can tell the bike is jonesing to hit the road just as bad as I am. I try not to think about what else leaving will mean: that I'll be leaving Tess in Maple Ridge. Again.
Fake Bride With Benefits Page 8
