Page 9 of His Fake Fiancé

Mama hesitated, and a weird little feeling, something that felt a bit like doubt, a bit like fear, rumbled to life inside him. “What? You don’t think she will be?” And why did the idea of Claire not being in his life make the feeling worse?

“It’s not that. It’s just, neither of you are kids anymore. And I wouldn’t be surprised if, one of these days, Claire realizes she might need more.”

His gut twisted, but he didn’t know what it meant, only that it was uncomfortable. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to leave or anything. Her life and family are here.”

I’m here. But he didn’t dare say that bit out loud. It was selfish. Plus, he had a feeling it wasn’t quite the argument in his favor that he imagined.

Mama patted his hand. It stung, since it felt a little condescending. Especially since she’d just finished reminding him he wasn’t a kid anymore. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.” She stood and started clearing the table.

Jake nodded and turned back to his breakfast. Although the food was delicious, his appetite had taken a nosedive. He grabbed his plate and went over and scraped the scraps into the compost bin. For the first time in his life, real doubt nagged at his insides.

Claire finished changing Olivia’s diaper and then dressed her in a pink sleeper with little yellow ducks all over it. She’d bought it for the baby last summer, when Olivia had crashed into their lives. After the shock had worn off, she and Mrs. C had gone shopping, because they’d all be unprepared for a baby. Then Claire had gone home and sobbed into her pillow.

Olivia yawned, her little bow shaped mouth opening wide.

“Time for a nap, baby girl.” Claire gathered the baby against her chest and sat in the white rocking chair in the corner of the nursery. Mrs. C had spared no expense for her granddaughter, the bedroom filled with gorgeous, expensive furniture. White wooden crib, with matching change table, dresser, armoire and rocking chair. All the accents were in pink gingham: crib bumper pad, curtains, cushions. Everything screamed baby girl. It was so sweetly perfect.

Olivia knew what was coming, so she fused a bit, determined not to close her eyes and miss out on anything good. Claire smiled and cooed, rubbing the baby’s back in a soothing rhythm. Olivia popped her thumb in her mouth, laying her head on Claire’s shoulder. Claire’s heart just about exploded.

And then Claire started to sing. Nothing special, just a soft little lullaby. Olivia yawned again and her little eyelids drooped and then closed. Claire continued to sing, just rocking back and forth. The peacefulness of the moment washed over her. And yet, there was still a little aching corner of her soul she wasn’t sure how to fix.

“Hey.”

She looked up. Jake stood in the doorway, his shoulder braced against the jamb, arms crossed over his chest. That little ache in her chest bloomed, and she had the overwhelming urge to cry.

“Hey,” she said, not sure what else to say. And really not trusting herself to say more anyway. She pushed to her feet and carried Olivia over to the crib. She placed the baby down and brushed her fingers through Olivia’s soft curls.

“We need to talk.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. Yeah, they did. Because it was time for Claire to end this foolishness. She needed to tell Jake what a huge mistake this was, that no one was going to buy it, and to give the ring back.

She brushed the curls off Olivia’s forehead one more time and then followed Jake down the hall to his bedroom. When she was little, this house was her sanctuary. Not that she didn’t love her place. Her family’s ranch—Stone Creek—was located on one of the most beautiful sections of land in the area.

It was just sometimes her family was too much. Too many opinions about who she should be, what she should do, where she should go. Sometimes, it felt like she was living with four fathers instead of three brothers and her dad. It was one of the downsides of being so much younger than her siblings. She’d barely started school and the three of them were already teenagers. There were lots of opinions on too many aspects of her life, and while most of time she let it slide, sometimes it got to be too much and she needed an escape. The Callahan’s house had always been that refuge.

And then, as they’d gotten older, Jake’s bedroom had become a different kind of sanctuary. One where they hung out and listened to music, or played video games. Where she dreamed about him pulling her close and telling her that she was the one.

Sadly, it had never happened. Jake had never seen her in a romantic way, much to her extreme disappointment. Of course, she’d never actually told him how she felt—then or now—so all the blame couldn’t be placed on his broad shoulders.

Only most of it.

Even though she knew it was dumb and unfair, part of her still thought he should know how she felt. It wasn’t like she’d kept it a secret. While she hadn’t been blatant about it—at least she tried not to anyway—she knew most folks could easily see how she felt. That he couldn’t see it was bloody frustrating.

She slipped into his bedroom. The scent overwhelmed her, like always, in the very best way. It was the perfect blend of earthy spice and masculine sweet. The kind of scent that made her knees weak. Which was the most ridiculous thing in the universe. She really needed to get a grip. And maybe a life. Those worn out college catalogues stuffed in the back of her closet were starting to look better and better.

Jake flopped down on the bed, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him, his ankles crossed. She hesitated near the doorway for a second, just drinking him in. It really was a sin to be so handsome. If she hadn’t known him her entire life, she would think he’d been airbrushed like those models in the magazines.

All the Callahans were handsome, but Jake was breathtaking. There was a rakish stray curl on his forehead right now, making her fingers itch to push it back, run them through his hair.

He patted the mattress next to him. “Come sit down.”

Oh, what an invitation. If only it wasn’t so platonic as to be ridiculous.

She walked over to the bed and lowered herself next to him, making sure to leave space in between them. This was going to be hard enough without her hormones wreaking havoc on her senses.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he said, pulling himself up to a sitting position. His abs flexed in the most delicious, distracting way, and she quickly looked away. That was not helping her hormones.

“So have I.” She inched away from him a little more. Gave herself a little more breathing room. She wiped her damp palms on her jeans. Why was this so hard? She just needed tell him she couldn’t do this, that it was a mistake. That was all. “I don’t think—”