Iwake to the weight of Julie pressed against my side.

    For a moment, I’m disoriented, knowing this isn’t my penthouse. Then I remember I’m in Julie’s bed and what we didst night.

    A smile touches my lips as I realize I’m waking up next to her for the first time. I’ll never get to experience this again.

    She’s still asleep, red hair fanned across the pillow. I can feel her breath against my shoulder. I think about yesterday at the orchard and the sunlight against her skin.

    “I can feel you staring,” she mutters without opening her eyes, then smiles.

    “How?”

    “Your breathing changed.” She stretches like a cat, pressing closer. “What time is it?”

    I reach over and check my phone. “Just after seven.”

    “Shit.” Her eyes fly open. “I have to be at work?—”

    “Sierra is covering your morning shift,” I remind her. “You texted herst night, remember?”

    She rxes back against me. “Right. I’m not used to taking any time off.”

    “Maybe you should get used to it. I’ve heard having work-life bnce is important.”

    “Yeah? Teach me how.”

    I wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer against me. “I’m trying.”

    She stares at my mouth. “Waking up to you is my new favorite thing.”

    “Me too, sweetheart.”

    We lie here for a moment, just holding each other. I run my fingers through her hair, and it’s surreal, being with her like this.

    I feel alive, to the point I want to stand on the balcony attached to her bedroom and scream it for the entire town to hear.

    “I should shower,” she says, but doesn’t move.

    “We could share,” I suggest. “Conserve water.”

    Sheughs. “We already marked it off my list.”

    “Partially,” I tell her. “We didn’t define what sex is.”

    She kisses me. “Join me?”

    “Lead the way.”

    She slips out of bed,pletely naked and gorgeous in the morning light. Julie is a goddess.

    I follow her to the bathroom, already half-hard.

    The shower is small, forcing us to press close under the spray. Julie tips her head back, water streaming over her.

    “You’re staring again,” she says.

    “Can’t help it.” I reach for her body wash and loofah, wanting to touch her all over. “Sometimes, I find it hard to believe you’re real and that we’re here.”

    She ces her hands against the tiles, and I start at her shoulders, massaging as I go. She moans when I work out a knot.

    “That feels amazing.”

    My hands slide lower, over her breasts, her stomach. When I reach between her legs, she gasps.

    I kiss her neck, fingers teasing. “Let me take care of you.”

    I slide two fingers inside her, and she rocks back against me.

    “See? Getting you all clean.”

    “From the inside out.”

    I work her until she’s shaking. When I feel her getting close, I turn her around and drop to my knees. I spread her legs wider and taste her. Her hands immediately tangle in my wet hair. A broken moan escapes her as I take my time, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her pull my hair harder.

    Before shees, I stand up and turn her around. “Palms t on the wall.”

    She does as I said, and then secondster, I thrust deep inside of her. She screams out with satisfaction as I wrap my arm around her waist, holding her tight.

    I don’t stop, holding her steady as she arches her ass for me, creating more friction. Her cries echo off the bathroom walls as shees. I chase my release, following behind her.

    “Wow,” she pants out as I lean forward, kissing her neck and ear. “Is this real?”

    “Hell yes, it is.”

    She turns around, her back against the wall. She looks up into my eyes and smiles. Julie opens her mouth to say something, and before she can get it out, I hear pounding on her door.

    “Are you expecting someone?”

    “No.” Julie groans.

    The knockes again—harder.

    “Maybe they’ll go away,” I suggest.

    “Julie Marie! I know you’re home!” A woman’s voice carries through the house.

    Julie’s eyes widen. “Oh no, that’s my mother.”

    “Your—”

    “Where are you at, sweetie?”

    The front door opens and closes.

    “Shit, shit, shit.” Julie scrambles out of the shower, grabbing a towel. “She’s inside. My mom has a key.”

    “What?”

    “Get dressed. Now.”

    “Your dad and I are here,” she announces.

    As she rushes to dry off, I hear the creak of the stairs being taken to the second floor, where Julie’s room is.

    Her eyes go wide. She throws me a towel. “Let me get rid of them.”

    I smirk. “Breathe. You’re a thirty-five-year-old woman.”

    “True. But I’ll always be their innocent little girl.”

    “Innocent? Give me a damn break.” I steal a kiss.

    Her eyes scan down my body.

    “I want more of thatter.”

    “My point,” I tell her. “You’re no angel.”

    “I’ming up!” her mom says. “Hope you’re decent.”

    “Go,” I say, but not before I pull her against me, kissing her.

    Footsteps traveling down the short hallway have us scrambling. They’re heading straight toward us.

    When we break apart, I rush to pull on my clothes.

    “Julie?” Her mom’s voice is closer now. “I brought breakfast from the shop and—oh!”

    Julie steps out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

    “Mom. Dad,” Julie says suspiciously. “Can we go downstairs?”

    “Are you alone?” her mom asks.

    “Uh, I …”

    I take this as my cue and open the door.

    A woman who looks like an older version of Julie—same red hair, same green eyes—stands at the doorway. Behind her is a tall man with graying hair and suspicious eyes.

    “I’m Nick.” I step forward, offering my hand. “Nick Banks. Nice to meet you both.”

    Julie might explode from embarrassment, and I find it adorable.

    Her mom’s eyes light up. “Oh! You must be the boyfriend everyone has told us about!”

    “Everyone?” Julie and I say in unison.

    “The whole town’s talking,” she insists. “I thought it was a rumor, to be honest.”

    “Okay, okay, can we please take this conversation downstairs?” Julie asks, pushing them forward.

    We all head downstairs, and I can feel Julie’s tension radiating off her like summer heat. Her mother immediately makes herself at home in the kitchen, pulling goodies from the bags she brought. There are caramel apples, maple scones, and miniature pecan pies.

    “Let me make you both breakfast,” I offer, moving toward the stove.

    “Oh, no, dear. We already ate,” her mother says, but she’s studying me with interest. “We stopped by the diner. Marge finally rolled out her pumpkin pancakes for the season.”

    “First day of pumpkin pancakes is basically a town holiday,” her dad adds, extending his hand for a proper shake now. His grip is firm, testing. “I’m Richard. And pardon my daughter for being so rude, but this is Sharon, my wife.”

    “So very nice to meet you,” I say genuinely.

    “I used to watch you y, Banks. You were a monster on the ice.”

    I chuckle, but I’m ttered. “Yeah? I only act that way when I have skates on.”

    Her dadughs. “You’re a legend.”

    “Nah,” I say.

    “You’re just being humble, which is fine. It’s a good quality to have. You know you were the best.”

    I shrug.

    “I saw you donated to the library,” Sharon says. “That was so generous.”

    “Okay, please don’t bombard him,” Julie tells them, turning on her espresso machine. “Please.”

    “The donation was made in my sister’s memory.”

    Something shifts in her dad’s expression. “Sorry for your loss. That’s respectable, honoring her that way.”

    “Thank you.”

    Sharon is practically beaming as she watches us.

    “Oh, Julie, honey, look at you!” She sps her hands together. “I haven’t seen this look on you since Buddy Madison.”

    “Mom!” Julie’s face turns bright red. “Why would you bring him up?”

    “Who’s Buddy Madison?” I ask, intrigued.

    “Her first love,” Sharon says. “They were inseparable.”

    “Until he cheated on me with Bethany Collins,” Julie mutters.

    Sharon reaches over and touches Julie’s hand. “But look at you now. That same sparkle in your eyes, except …” She looks between us. “This is different. Bigger.”

    “Mom, please.”

    “What? I’m just saying what I see.” She turns to me. “Yesterday, Mrs. Henderson cornered me at the grocery store, said you two were glowing at the festival.”

    “Mrs. Henderson needs a hobby,” Julie mutters.

    Her dadughs. “She has one. It’s called being in everyone’s business.”

    “Pot, meet kettle,” Julie says, gesturing at her parents. “You literally broke into my house.”

    “We have a key. That’s not breaking in. Besides, we wanted to meet Nick properly.” She turns to me. “So, you’re from New York City?”

    “I live there now, but I grew up in a small town a few hours outside of the city. The poption is about the same as Cozy Creek.”

    Richard nods approvingly. “Good. City boys don’t usually understand ces like this.”

    “Dad’s not a fan of tourists,” Julie exins.

    “Pumpkin peepers,” Richard says with disdain. “They clog up the streets, can’t drive worth a damn, and act like we’re here for their entertainment.”

    “Richard,” Sharon warns, but she’s smiling.

    “He’s not wrong,” I say. “That’s why I rented out Coleman’s Orchard yesterday. I want and need privacy.”

    Julie’s parents exchange surprised looks.

    “You rented the entire orchard?” Richard asks.

    “For the afternoon, yes.”

    Sharon’s eyes shine. “Oh, that’s so romantic! Richard, remember when you?—”

    “Sharon,” Richard warns, but his mouth twitches with a suppressed smile. “I didn’t have hockey money.”

    He looks at me with something that resembles an approval, and I take it.

    “You’re here through October?” she asks me.

    “Yep,” I say. “I have to be back in the city on November first.”

    Julie’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently.

    “Well,” Sharon says, brightening, “I hope not forever.”

    “It won’t be,” I say, meaning it. “My mom and stepfather are staying in Cozy Creek through the holidays. I always spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with my mom, no matter where she is in the world.”

    Julie’s mouth falls open, and then she quickly closes it. I lift a brow at her.

    “Oh, wonderful! We should have a family dinner sometime,” Sharon says.

    “Mom, slow down,” Julie pleads. “You’re already nning holiday dinners, and you just met him.”

    “When you know, you know,” Sharon says, looking at her husband. “I knew your father was it for me after our second date.”

    “First date,” Richard corrects. “You just didn’t admit it until the second.”

    They share a look that speaks of decades of love, and it makes me grin.

    Richard pulls Sharon with him. “We should let you two get on with your day. Sorry for barging in.”

    “Though not really sorry,” Sharon adds with a wink. “I had to meet the man who has my daughter glowing like this.”

    “I’m d you did,” I say.

    After they leave, Julie drops her head on the counter. “I can’t believe she brought up Buddy Madison.”

    “Your first love?” I pull her in front of me.

    “High school boyfriend. Ancient history.” She looks up at me. “And they definitely knew we were having shower sex.”

    “Your parents are great, Jules.”

    “Really?”

    “Yeah. They love you. They want you to be happy.” I brush hair from her face. “Your mom’s right though.”

    “About what?”

    “You are sparkling.”

    She hides her face in my chest. “Stop.”

    “Never.”

    My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out.

    Patterson

    Coffee shop is AMAZING. Your girl’s friend with the crystals is hot. Also, I may have told everyone we’re brothers. Roll with it.

    I show Julie the text. Sheughs.

    “ire will destroy him.”

    “Probably. But I have a feeling Patterson isn’t quite her type,” I say, studying her.

    “You’re right. ire goes for the artsy, intelligent, nerdy boys. Patterson’s about as subtle as a freight train. Should we go rescue her?” she asks.

    “Let him figure it out. Besides, it’s your day off. When’s thest time you took one?”

    She thinks about it. “Yesterday.”

    “Exactly. Before that, you have no idea.” I pull her closer. “Spend the day with me.”

    “You say it like I need convincing.”

    “Do you?”

    She shakes her head, then pushes up on her toes, kissing me. “You’re sweeter than you let people see.”

    “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”

    “Your secret’s safe with me.”

    “What do people do here when they’re not working?” I ask.

    Her eyes light up. “The farmers market is today. It’s thest big one before October.”

    “Perfect. Let’s go.”

    “Really?”

    “Yeah. Lead the way. I want to go everywhere with you.”

    She blushes, and I love that I can make that happen.

    “Let me grab my bags,” she says, sliding a few recycled totes over her arm, then we leave.

    We walk hand in hand through town toward the square where white tents are set up in rows. The morning air is cool, and I can smell fresh bread, apples, and a hint of cinnamon.

    “This is one of my favorite things about fall,” Julie says, swinging our joined hands. “Local vendors, fresh produce, Mnie’s apple cider doughnuts …”

    “Apple cider doughnuts?”

    “Life-changing.” She pulls me toward a tent where an older woman is frying doughnuts. They smell incredible.

    “Julie! And the famous Nick Banks!” Mnie beams at us. “I heard all about you.”

    “Of course you did.” Julieughs. “A dozen, please.”

    “A dozen?” I ask.

    “Trust me. We’ll want themter,” she whispers and tries to pay, but I insist.

    “Absolutely not,” I tell her, handing my card to Mnie before tipping her big.

    “Uh,” she says, looking down at it, “I think you added too many zeros.”

    “Oh? Let me see.” I look at the slip and see a thousand-dor tip. “Nope, that’s right.”

    As Mnie bags our doughnuts, she winks at me, adding extra ones. “Thank you so much. Now, you’d better take care of her. She’s special.”

    “I know,” I say, squeezing Julie’s hand.

    We wander through the market, Julie introducing me to vendors she’s known her whole life. She buys honey from the beekeepers, Granny Smith apples from Coleman’s stand, and fresh herbs from themunity garden. I carry her bags, watching her light up as she chats with everyone.

    “Nick Banks?” A man with a thick Southern drawl approaches. “Holy shit, it really is you.”

    “Hi,” I say, taking his hand.

    “Huge fan,” he says, shaking.

    Julie watches the interaction.

    “Mind if I get a picture? No one will believe that I ran into you.”

    “Of course,” I tell him.

    Julie takes the phone, snapping a few shots.

    After we’re alone, she looks at me thoughtfully. “Wow, you must really be a big deal.”

    “Shh,” I say. “I’m not, trust me.”

    “You’re just being humble. I mean, I knew you yed hockey, but these people are fangirling over you. Even my dad did.”

    Laughter releases from me. “Didn’t realize who your boyfriend was?”

    I wrap my arm around her, and she holds me tight.

    “I guess not.”

    We move between a vegetable stand and the craft booth to check out another section.

    “Nics?” Another voice interrupts. “Nick Banks?”

    We turn to find a woman with a professional camera around her neck. Not a local. Her clothes are too polished, her smile too calcted.

    “I’m Amy from Sports Daily. What brings you to Cozy Creek?”

    My body tenses. Julie must feel it because she steps closer.

    “I’m not here for interviews,” I say.

    Amy’s eyes slide to Julie, taking in our joined hands, the market bags, the domestic scene. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

    “I don’t think we need to,” Julie says, but doesn’t offer more.

    “We’re actually in a hurry,” I say, steering Julie away. “Have a good day.”

    “Just one picture?” Amy calls after us.

    I don’t respond, guiding Julie through the crowd toward the edge of the market.

    “Who was that?” Julie asks once we’re clear.

    “Trouble.” I scan the area, looking for other photographers. When there is one, there are usually others. “She’s a sports journalist, but she focuses more on gossip than games.”

    “Oh.” Julie’s quiet for a moment. “Is she going to write about us?”

    “Probably.”

    “About our fake rtionship?” she asks, but there’s something in her voice.

    Julie spots another photographer near the honey stand.

    “Maybe,” I say, realizing we’re surrounded. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”

    She grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Want to go home and eat apple cider doughnuts in bed, naked?”

    “That’s the best suggestion you’ve had all day,” I say with augh, loving how she so casually pulls me away from my mini spiral.

    “Better than shower sex?” she asks.

    “Different category, but equally appealing.”

    I was afraid of the outside world bursting our perfect bubble. I just wanted more time with her before reality came crashing in.

    As we walk back to her ce, I keep watch for photographers, knowing I need to text Asher as soon as we’re out of the public eye.

    Julie hums beside me, swinging her market bags, asionally feeding me bites of a warm doughnut. She acts as if she doesn’t care, but I know better.

    Regardless, I soak in the morning sun, enjoy the peacefulness of the town, and try to forget people from my world are here, watching us.

    “Nick?” Julie says as we reach her door.

    “Yeah?”

    “Whatever happens with the media stuff … I’m d it’s me.”

    “Me too.”

    She fumbles with her keys, and that’s when I realize she’s nervous.

    “Let me help,” I say, taking them, unlocking the door while shielding her.

    Once inside, Julie sets down the market bags on the counter and turns to me.

    “What parts are real, and what parts are fake?”

    “When we’re alone. All real.” I move closer to her. “The way I look at you. Real. How I feel when I wake up next to you. Real. The panic I experienced when I saw those photographers getting near you. So damn real.” I take her hands.

    “So, you’re just really bad at fake dating?”

    “The worst,” I agree, pulling her closer. “But it will work out.”

    “Even with photographers following us?”

    “Especially then.” I kiss her forehead.

    My phone vibrates, and I pull it from my pocket.

    Patterson

    ire just read my palm and told me I’m going to see my soulmate in November. Then she kicked me out of the shop. I’m so confused.

    I show Julie the text. Sheughs, and some of the tension releases from her shoulders.

    “This doesn’t surprise me,” she admits.

    I tuck loose strands of hair behind her ears. “Now, about those doughnuts in bed …”

    She smiles, the tension immediately disappearing. “Race you upstairs.”

    “What do I get if I win?”

    “Me,” she says, snatching the bag of goodies and taking off running.

    I catch her halfway up, spinning her around, kissing her against the wall. The market bags drop, and an apple rolls down the stairs, but neither of us cares.

    “I already won,” I tell her.

    “We both have,” she whispers.

    And for now, we have apple cider doughnuts and each other.

    It’s more than enough.