The Innkeeper’s Fake Fiancé

The line went quiet for half a second, long enough for Emma to imagine her mother smiling. “Your aunt says she has someone wonderful to introduce you to.”

The mop slipped from Emma’s hand and slapped into the water.

“No.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic. I’m standing in a flooded foyer while you tell me a stranger is waiting in the wings.”

“He’s not a stranger. He owns the marina.”

“That makes him a man with a boat, not a man I want to marry.”

“Then perhaps you should bring someone of your own.”

The words came lightly. The damage did not.

Emma stared at the water creeping beneath the reception desk. A small brass bell floated past her shoe.

“Fine,” she said.

Her mother paused. “Fine?”

“I’m bringing my fiancé.”

The lie left her mouth with the clean, awful certainty of a plate breaking.

“Your what?”

“My fiancé. I was going to tell you when everyone arrived.”

Another pause. This one was delighted.

“Oh, Emma.”

Emma closed her eyes. “Don’t make that sound.”

“Your fiancé.”

“Yes.”

“Who is he?”

The front doors rattled in their frames. A gust forced rain through the gap beneath them, and the foyer lights flickered.

Emma looked toward the renovation area, where Noah Bennett had been replacing the warped trim around the old stairwell. His tools were stacked beneath a canvas cover, but he was nowhere in sight.

“Someone,” she said, “who doesn’t enjoy being announced like a prize heifer.”

“That sounds promising.”

“It isn’t.”

Her mother laughed. “We’ll see you soon.”

The call ended before Emma could take the lie back.

For three seconds, she stood motionless while rain drummed overhead.

Then she grabbed the mop.

By the time the first car turned into the inn’s circular drive, the water had reached the legs of the umbrella stand. Emma had moved the front desk onto the dry strip beside the parlor doors, rolled towels along the threshold, and placed a mixing bowl beneath the worst leak.

None of it looked like a woman whose fiancé was due to arrive.

Her aunt’s sedan stopped near the porte cochère. Two doors opened at once. Her mother emerged in a yellow raincoat, followed by Aunt Diane, who carried three overnight bags and the expression of a woman arriving to solve someone else’s life.

Emma pulled the doors open.

“Careful,” she called. “The floor is - ”

Her mother stepped into the foyer and skidded.

Emma caught her elbow. Aunt Diane’s bags landed in the water with three heavy splashes.

“ - wet,” Emma finished.

Her mother looked down at the flooded floor, then up at Emma. “What happened?”

“The storm.”

“And your fiancé?”

“I’m working on that.”

Aunt Diane wrung rain from her scarf. “You said he’d be here.”

“I said I was bringing him.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It is if he arrives before dinner.”

Her mother’s gaze sharpened. “Emma.”

A hammer struck wood somewhere beyond the parlor.

Everyone turned.

Noah stepped through the archway carrying a length of cedar trim over one shoulder. His dark hair was damp, though whether from rain or work Emma couldn’t tell. Sawdust clung to the sleeves of his gray shirt, and a pencil rested behind one ear. He stopped when he saw the three women, the luggage floating at his boots, and Emma standing ankle-deep in disaster.

His eyes moved to hers.

“What did you do?” he asked.

It was not the question her family wanted answered. Emma felt the lie tightening around her ribs.

She crossed the foyer, leaving wet footprints behind. “I need a favor.”

Noah set the cedar against the wall. “The last time you said that, I ended up inside the attic crawl space with a raccoon.”

“You survived.”

“Barely.”

Her mother approached, smiling too warmly. “You must be the carpenter.”

“Noah Bennett.” He wiped his hand on his jeans before offering it.

Her mother took it. “Margaret Whitmore. Emma’s mother.”

“A pleasure.”

Aunt Diane peered at him. “You work here?”

“Most days.”

Emma could feel the questions lining up behind her family’s faces. Where was he from? Was he single? Did he own a home? Did he have intentions?

She stepped between them.

“Noah is my fiancé.”

The rain seemed to grow louder.

Noah’s expression did not change, but his gaze dropped briefly to her left hand. Her bare left hand.

Emma lifted it as if she had meant to display the empty finger all along. “We haven’t chosen a ring yet.”

Aunt Diane’s mouth opened.

Noah looked at Emma. “We haven’t?”

She gave him a warning smile. “It’s been a busy week.”

“With the raccoon?”

“With everything.”

His eyes stayed on hers. There was no warmth in them yet, but there was interest. A question. Maybe a little disbelief.

Emma took his hand before he could ask it aloud.

His fingers closed around hers by reflex, rough palm against her chilled skin. The contact steadied her and made everything worse.

“Please,” she murmured.

Noah’s thumb shifted once over her knuckles. “What exactly am I agreeing to?”

“My family is here for the weekend.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“They think I’m lonely.”

“You are standing in a flood holding my hand.”

“Exactly. I need you to make them think I’m not.”

His mouth twitched. “You want me to pretend to be your fiancé.”

“I want you to stop my aunt from presenting marina owners at dinner.”

“Is that all?”

Emma glanced at her mother, who was pretending not to watch them. “For now.”

Noah leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And what do I get?”

“You’re restoring the inn. I’ll add a completion bonus.”

His expression hardened enough to remind her that he was not a man who could be bought into anything personal.

“I’m not talking about money.”

Heat rose beneath Emma’s damp collar. “Then what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

The answer landed between them, heavier than the storm.

Aunt Diane called from the desk, “How long have you two been together?”

Emma didn’t look away from Noah. “Long enough.”

“That’s not a length of time,” he murmured.

“It is when people are listening.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth. The glance lasted no more than a breath, but Emma felt it like a hand at her waist.

Then the ceiling gave a sharp crack.

Water burst through the plaster above them.

Noah moved first. He pulled Emma against him and shoved her out of the falling spray. A sheet of cold water struck his shoulder instead. Emma’s palms landed against his chest, solid and warm beneath the wet cotton.

For one startled second, they stood pressed together while water hissed against the floor.

Noah looked down at her. “You all right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

The concern in his voice was quiet, stripped of teasing. Emma swallowed.

“I’m fine.”

His hand remained at her waist. Not gripping. Asking.

She should have stepped away. Instead, she felt the steady rise of his breathing beneath her palms and remembered every family gathering where she had smiled through questions about her future, her choices, her failure to want what they wanted for her.

“I can’t do another weekend of them deciding what’s wrong with me,” she said.

Noah’s face changed.

Emma forced the words out before courage failed. “They look at me and see a project. Someone to fix. If I bring a fiancé, even a temporary one, they might leave me alone.”

“Temporary,” he repeated.

“That’s the point.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then I’ll deal with it.”

“You’re already dealing with a roof falling on you.”

“That is different.”

“No, it isn’t.” His thumb pressed lightly at her side. “You keep standing under things that are coming down.”

The truth of it scraped deeper than she expected.

Emma pulled back. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

“No. I know you well enough to see you’re trying to hold up this whole place with one hand while telling everyone you don’t need help.”

The foyer seemed suddenly too small. Rainwater soaked through Emma’s shoes. Noah’s shoulder was dark with it.

Her mother cleared her throat. “Should we give you two a moment?”

“No,” Emma said quickly.

Noah’s eyebrows rose.

Emma turned to him. “Please. Just this weekend. You can set the rules. No sleeping arrangements, no declarations when we’re alone, no - ”

“No kissing?”

Her pulse stumbled.

Aunt Diane was still within earshot, gathering her bags from the water. Emma lowered her voice. “Only if necessary.”

“When would it be necessary?”

“When my family doubts us.”

“That sounds dangerously subjective.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Not yet.”

His gaze settled on her mouth again, and this time he did not pretend it was accidental.

Emma’s fingers tightened around his hand. “Noah.”

He looked at her for another moment, then turned toward the leaking ceiling. “I’ll do it.”

Relief came first. Then something far less manageable.

“You will?”

“For the weekend.” He picked up the cedar trim with his free hand. “But I’m not leaving the inn in this condition.”

Her mother smiled. “Wonderful. You can join us for dinner tonight.”

Noah’s head turned. “Tonight?”

“And tomorrow’s harbor walk,” Aunt Diane added. “We planned the whole weekend.”

Emma’s relief vanished.

Noah looked from her family to the flooded foyer, then back to Emma. His hand was still holding hers. Around them, water ran in thin streams toward the doors, carrying sawdust, rain, and one of Aunt Diane’s silk scarves.

“You said just the weekend,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“And they’ve planned my schedule.”

“I know.”

His thumb brushed her knuckles once, slow enough to feel intentional.

“Then I suppose,” he said, loud enough for her family to hear, “I’d better start by taking my fiancée to dinner.”

The word sounded wrong in his voice.

It also sounded dangerously right.

Emma looked at their joined hands and wondered how long a lie could remain harmless once everyone else began believing it.

End of chapter one. 7 more chapters in the full book.