There is a man sleeping in my bed—a real live man.

That’s the delicious thought that keeps rippling through my mind as I’m in the kitchen making muffins with a big black dog who’s hoping to lick the spoon. It’s early for a Saturday—7 a.m.—but I woke up feeling more rested and content than I have in a long time. Damon has to meet the movers at his Hancock house, and I want to send him off full and satisfied—much like how he left me last night.

And did I mention there’s a real live man sleeping in my bed?

I was glad I woke up before him so I could just watch him sleeping—study the symmetry of his face, look at his mouth and replay the things he did with it the night before. This giddy, almost star-struck feeling reminds me of when I was fourteen and had a pathetically major crush on junior jock Tyler Bicknell with his mop of curly hair and easy grin. It’s one of the best feelings in the world, and Damon has given it back to me. He’s shown me that relationships don’t have to be tainted with wariness.

Wait a minute...did I really just say that my fake boyfriend has changed my views on real relationships?

I believe I did.

I use the spatula to scrape batter from the side of the bowl, making sure to leave a little for Tucker who is most appreciative, and slide the muffin tin into the oven. I’ve got coffee brewing, the sunlight is streaming through the windows, my apartment smells like butter and cinnamon and hazelnut, and the particles I see glinting in the air have to be fairy dust.

Thinking back on last night with Damon, I realize it was more than just the physical act of sex and overcoming my fears. I felt like I was set free, for sure, but it was also me seeing him in a totally different light—looking down on him, his face clear and open and sincere. It was the way we were toward each other—the shift from snarky and wise-ass to tender and transparent. I wasn’t the only one exposed; he was, too. We were both seeing the real deal.

Pretty ironic for a couple of fakers.

I take out two coffee mugs from the cupboard and am going to the fridge for creamer when the real live man walks into my kitchen, bathed in sunlight. He is wearing plaid boxers and nothing else, and oh my goodness, how that look works for him. I take a long moment to watch the muscles ripple in his torso as he drags a hand through his tousled blond hair.

“You let me stay in bed,” he says reproachfully, his eyes still blurred with sleep.

“Sorry not sorry. I like you in my bed.”

Damon walks over in his bare feet, bends down to rub Tucker’s ears and then wraps me up in a hug. I stand on my tiptoes to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Good morning.” He raises his chin and sniffs. “Something smells unbelievably delicious.”

“Morning glory muffins. They’re going to be on the café menu, and you’re my guinea pig again.”

“I can deal with that.” He takes the mug I offer him and sits down at the kitchen table, grinning as he looks at me.

“What’s so funny?”

“Is that going to be an unwritten rule at Memory Lane Café?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Coffee coddling. Customers having to hold their mugs like that, like they’re making love to it.” He imitates me, turning his mug around so the handle is facing out, cupping his hands around the base and sipping with wide, innocent eyes.

I burst out laughing. “Stop picking on me.”

“I couldn’t resist.” He grins. “You’re so cute about it.” His face shifts into serious. “So it was pretty awesome last night.”

He’s got me rattled. Again. I lean back against the counter, feet crossed at the ankles and coddle my coffee, suddenly feeling shy. “It was very awesome.”

The skin around his eyes crinkles adorably as he smiles. I feel the warmth of his gaze. “I like us, Delaney.”

His words turn me as gooey as batter. “I like us, too, Damon,” I say softly.

The oven timer dings, jarring me out of the moment. I take out the muffins, and they look perfect. I want everything to keep being perfect.

“So, unfortunately, I’ve got to leave soon to meet the movers. What’s your plan for the day?”

“Meeting Jack downstairs—he’s going to bring over the display case and install it.”

“Excellent.”

“Want me to keep Tucker here, so he’s not underfoot with the movers?”

“That would be great. They’ve got quite a crew, and I don’t have too much stuff, so it shouldn’t take too long to get everything in.” His eyes widen, like something has just occurred to him. “Shit. I almost forgot—there’s this bistro night thing at the Blue Hill winery my mother wants us to go to.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Us?”

He grins. “Well, me. But I want us to go. It’ll be good for her to see us as solid. Sorry for the short notice, though—it slipped my mind.”

“No worries. I’m kind of at your beck and call. The contract, remember?”

“Ah, yes. The contract. Funny, I keep forgetting about that. But I really like the sound of you being at my beck and call.”

Me too.

After a quick breakfast, Damon showers while I get that giddy feeling again that he’s using my water, my soap and shampoo, drying himself off with one of my towels. I fight the urge to go in the bathroom because I’m quite sure I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him, and I know he needs to leave.

I just don’t want him to.

After he’s dressed, he kisses me goodbye and tells Tucker to be good. I feel a pang when I notice his overnight bag on the couch. I don’t want to, but I bring it over to the door as he’s ready to leave. “Don’t forget this.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He seems to sense what I’m feeling, because he lifts up the bag by the handles, gives it a little shake and grins at me. “It’ll be back.”

Before I need to meet Jack downstairs, I take a quick shower and bring Tucker out to do his business. Then it’s a quick vacuum of the living room, make the bed while having dreamy thoughts, fill up a water bowl for Tucker and open up a couple windows to let in the fresh spring air. At 9 a.m., I hear   Jack’s truck pull in, and I head down to the café.

“Hey, Lane.” Jack gives me a big hug. He’s all smiles, like he’s also had a great night. I’m glad. With the way I’m feeling right now, I want the whole world to be happy. “You remember Owen?” he adds, gesturing toward a short, stocky guy at the back of the truck lowering the tailgate.

I’ve met him before. “Yes—hi. Thanks for helping.”

Owen nods and grins. “No problem. Big Deck needed some muscles this morning and knew who to call.”

When they take off the tarp to reveal the display case, I feel a little burst of excitement. My dream will be reality in exactly a week from today. A week.

They bring it in, get it into position and secure the brackets into the floor. I clasp my hands together and smile. “Thank you so much, Jack. Everything looks absolutely perfect, and I owe a lot of it to you.”

“Happy to help my girlfriend’s BFF. And speaking of happy, you’re really looking it.”

“I am.” He’s really looking at me like he knows something, and I feel my face get warm. “I’m so excited about opening next week.”

“I can tell. But I’m thinking it might be more than that.” He winks at me and I just smile and wrap my arms around myself as though I’m trying to keep some secrets from escaping.

After checking under the sink, Jack discovers a small leak in the drain and asks Owen to go to the truck for a pipe wrench. Then he turns to me, his blue eyes even brighter than usual.

“Hey, Laney—I wanted to tell you something real quick before Owen gets back, but you have to promise you won’t say anything.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

His handsome face breaks into a huge smile. “I’m going to propose to Maddie.”

“Oh my God, Jack! That’s so awesome!” I’m squealing, practically jumping up and down as he laughs and catches me in a bear hug.

“I’m pretty pumped. I’ve known that she’s the one for a long time now, and I’m at the point of not wanting to wait any longer to pop the question.”

“I’m so excited for you. When are you planning on asking her?”

“In a few weeks. I’m having a ring custom-made for her, and as soon as it’s ready, I’ll propose.”

“Oh, Jack.” I can’t stop smiling at him. Maddie’s going to be over the moon.

There’s the sound of the door opening, and we both turn to see Mads coming in. I shoot a quick glance at Jack, and we’re both thinking the same thing: shit, that was close.

“Hey, bestie! I’m on my way to a showing, but I thought I’d stop in to see the progress.” She walks up to Jack and slips her arm around his waist.

He dips his head and gives her a quick kiss. “Glad you came to check things out. Decker Renovation has it all under control. Laney, I’m off to another job while I’ve still got Owen’s help this morning, but I’ll be back next week just before you open to do any final touch-ups. I’ll take up the cardboard on the floor after the tables and chairs are delivered.” He gives me a quick, hard glance with raised eyebrows before he leaves, and I smile at him to let him know his secret is safe with me.

“Jack has done a fabulous job,” I tell her. “I love everything.”

“Me, too, Lane—the place looks amazing! I’m sorry I haven’t been here in a while—work has been so damn busy.” She walks around, nodding in approval. “This seriously looks so great—I love the lime green and chocolate for the color scheme. It’s so funky and unexpected. The original beams are just gorgeous. And that raised area in the corner with the antique bookcases—I can just picture people curled up there reading in comfy chairs.”

“I know—that’s one of my favorite features. There are two chairs and a love seat being delivered next week. I’m going to have some greenery in here, too.”

“Did you have your inspection yet?”

“Yes—went off without a hitch.”

“Yay! So you’re really all set for your grand opening. Are you inviting Stu and Lou?” Madeline winks.

“Um, no. The boys from Precision Machine are still not too happy with me.”

“Fuck ‘em. Right?”

“Exactly.”

I’m laughing, and Maddie impulsively grabs my hands, her eyes shining. “I’m so excited for you, Lane, that your dream is coming true.” Her face takes on a mischievous look. “And maybe another dream will follow.” She waits, cocks her head and frowns. “Sooo this is the part where you’d usually say something like ‘don’t go there’ or ‘I don’t have any other dreams.’”

“And yet—I’m not saying that.” I smile brightly at her.

“No, you’re not. Which means...oh my God, you do have a dream!” She’s practically bubbling over with excitement. “Is this dream on its way to reality?”

“Let’s just say I can listen to love songs without feeling the urge to change the station or throw up in my mouth.”

“Delaney!” Maddie looks awe-struck. I can’t stop smiling, because I know she gets that this is a big deal.

“Are you keeping details from me?” She narrows her eyes accusingly.

“Yes.”

“Ughh, I hate you! I’ve got to go to that goddamned showing, but please just give me something.”

“Okay, okay...” I’m tingling all over at the words on my tongue. “Damon and I had sex last night.” Had sex seems like such an inadequate and impersonal term to capture what he and I shared. But it’s enough for Maddie right now.

She clutches my upper arms and pulls me toward her, giving me a big smooch on my cheek. “Aaaah! Laney, that’s so great! Was it wonderful? It was, wasn’t it?”

A warmth spreads through me as I remember. I nod, smiling and feeling a sting in my nose that warns me tears are on the way. But they are happy tears.

“I am so, so thrilled for you. I want to hear all about it. Well, what you want to share, anyway. Which hopefully will include some good stuff. Damn it that I have to leave—but I’ll talk to you later this weekend, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you lots!” She gives me a quick hug and blows kisses at me as she hurries out the door.

That warm feeling stays with me all day, right up until the time I see Gloria Cavanaugh.

* * * *

Damon keeps his arm firmly around my waist as we walk toward his mother, but I’m still leery of how this night is going to go. Portia didn’t end up coming (although she’s hardly the issue), so Gloria is in an even worse mood. If that’s at all possible.

Her upper lip is already curling when we approach. She’s looking quite stunning and almost regal in a vivid red, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress and matching pumps with her hair swept up in her usual bun. I instantly start questioning my fashion choices. Regret that I wore my silver sandals since they don’t have much of a heel, and it feels like Gloria’s towering over me. The teal lace sheath dress I thought looked good on me at home now feels too plain. I should have worn my hair up to look more elegant. Et cetera.

Damon’s mother seems to sense my uneasiness and zeroes in for her first strike. “Daphne. I didn’t expect to see you here. You appeared rather out of place the last time. I really didn’t think you’d want to put yourself through that again.”

I grit my teeth and start to reply, but Damon beats me to it. “Mother. I know you’re perfectly aware that her name is Delaney. Retract your claws and your forked tongue.”

Oh my Jesus. Did he seriously just talk to his mother like that?! I’m biting back the cluster of giggles that’s threatening to burst out of my mouth. There’s fury hovering over her like steam from a kettle. She looks like she’s about to blow, but a smiling waitress with a tray of scallops materializes and  derails the rage train.

Damon takes a scallop and pops it in his mouth, his features washed in serenity.

Gloria Cavanaugh is not done yet.

“So...Delaney.” She says my name like she’s tasting grapefruit. “How are things at the machine shop? Greasy?”

I’m determined not to let her get to me. “Fine,” I answer sweetly, like I’m tasting cake. “This is actually my last week. I’m opening my café next Saturday.”

“How charming. I’m sure you’ll be wildly successful.”

“That’s what we’re planning on,” Damon says, holding me against him in a show of solidarity.

Gloria flashes him a frosty smile. “Your charity work here is commendable, even though it isn’t likely to amount to anything. Portia, on the other hand, has enormous potential...she will definitely benefit from all the one-on-one work you two have been doing.”

I’m trying really, really hard to keep from curling my fingers into a fist, because I’m afraid of where that fist might end up. Damon looks like he’s struggling with a similar issue. His face tightens and darkens. “Delaney, I think we could both use a drink.”

I start to walk away with him, but something stops me—most likely my pride. “Can you get me a Sangria? I’d like the chance to chat with your mom. Get to know her better.”

I turn to Gloria and paste on my brightest smile. I don’t know who’s more surprised by my request—mother, or son. Or me. But I have a few things to share with this land shark.

“All right,” Damon says slowly, cocking an eyebrow. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

His eyes linger on me as he walks away. I square my shoulders and continue smiling, and then I turn to Gloria Cavanaugh. I decide I’ll get right to the point, even as she’s looking down on me both figuratively and literally. Fuck that I didn’t wear higher heels.

“Look, Gloria...I know you don’t care for me.”

“That’s putting it a bit mildly, don’t you think?”

“Probably. And honestly, I don’t really care. What I do care about is how you’re treating your son.”

A middle-aged woman in a cobalt blue dress drifts by us, wearing the expression of someone who’s trying hard to appear like she’s not listening to us. Our body language is undoubtedly broadcasting that there could be a fireworks display.

I don’t want to make a scene, but I don’t want to be intimidated. Most of all, I don’t want her to keep treating Damon like shit.

“Do you appreciate your son, Gloria? I mean, do you see what a wonderful person he is?”

She blinks. Her nostrils flare, like she’s smelling something unpleasant. “How I may or may not view my son is absolutely none of your business. What is my business—” She leans scarily close, and I can see the lines of her saliva as she speaks. “—is when a conniving little Barbie doll tries to use my son for her own personal gain.”

I don’t know if I’m more upset by the Barbie reference or that she’s not far off base with the using thing. That’s actually exactly what Damon and I were doing. To each other. And thinking of it in that way is cringeworthy.

“Don’t think I’m buying your masquerade of a relationship, Delaney. It was just a little too coincidental that you just happened to come on the scene exactly when I was planning to fix him up with a woman who would be ideal for him in every way.”

Gloria pushes her face closer into mine. I can see the fine lines around her narrowed eyes, the perfectly clump-free layer of mascara on her lashes, smell her alcohol-laced breath. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear. You are not suitable for my son. There are certain standards that must be met in order to be in a relationship with a Cavanaugh. And you are most definitely sub-par.” She looks like she is planning to say more, but Damon’s appearance interrupts her.

“What’s going on here? Delaney, are you all right?”

“Your girlfriend and I were just chatting, Damon.” His mother stabs me with her eyes. “I think we have a better understanding of one another, don’t we?”

I nod, willing myself not to shake. Gloria’s face is smooth and tranquil—the expression of a woman who knows she’s won.

It’s not just my silver sandals making me feel small. I underestimated Gloria Cavanaugh. I was so fucking stupid to think I would ever be a match for her.

And maybe it’s more than that. Maybe I’m also fucking stupid to believe that I could ever really be a match for someone like Damon.

People begin to gravitate toward the stage area where the two R & B singers are getting ready to perform. Damon is looking down at me anxiously. I don’t want him to know.

“You sure you’re all right?”

I nod and force myself to smile. “I’m sure. We were making small talk.”

Really, Damon—I’m just faking fine.