Dani Clark did not believe in pretending.
It was the reason her bakery worked. The reason people trusted her. The reason she slept at night knowing she hadn't cut corners or softened herself into something easier to swallow.
So standing in front of the mirror that morning, staring at the engagement ring on her finger, felt like betrayal.
She turned her hand slightly, watching the light catch the stone.
It sparkled convincingly.
Too convincingly.
"Temporary," she muttered.
The word was supposed to calm her.
It didn't.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
PARKER: I'll pick you up at ten.
She stared at the message longer than necessary.
DANI: We're just meeting your friend. Not an event, Parker.
PARKER: I know. Casual.
She snorted softly.
Nothing in his life was casual.
They met for brunch at a quiet café just outside Franklin Square.
Neutral territory, Parker had said. Somewhere off the radar.
Dani didn't believe that either.
The moment they walked in together, heads turned. Nothing obvious. Nothing rude. Just curiosity—the kind that lingered half a second too long.
Parker noticed immediately. He leaned in slightly.
"Ignore it."
"I am," she whispered back. "I just don't like being watched."
"You get used to it."
"That's not reassuring."
They slid into a booth across from Parker's friend, Michael—clean-cut, friendly, and clearly already briefed.
"So," Michael said with an easy smile, "this is the Dani."
Dani stiffened.
Parker squeezed her hand lightly.
Public. Allowed.
"She is," Parker said.
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Didn't think you were the settling-down type."
Dani smiled politely.
Parker chuckled. "Neither did I."
The conversation stayed light—business, food, the town. But Dani caught the way Michael studied her. Curious. Measuring. Not hostile. Not friendly.
Assessing.
When Michael excused himself to take a call, Dani leaned in.
"Your friends talk like they're evaluating a purchase."
Parker winced. "That's fair."
"I don't want to be impressive," she said. "I want to be left alone."
"I'll work on that."
She believed he meant it.
Back at the shop, Dani paced while Parker leaned against the counter, watching her like he wasn't sure whether to intervene.
"This is already harder than I expected," she admitted.
"Which part?"
"All of it. The smiling. The explanations. Being careful."
He nodded. "It's a performance."
"I hate performing."
"I know."
She stopped pacing and faced him. "We need clearer rules."
"Okay."
"Real ones."
He straightened slightly. "I'm listening."
She took a breath.
"Rule one… we don't rehearse feelings."
He frowned. "Meaning?"
"No scripts about how much we care. No embellishing."
"That's risky."
"So is lying well."
He considered it. "Agreed."
"Rule two… we keep separate lives."
"We already do."
"Not just physically," she clarified. "Emotionally. You don't rescue me. I don't manage you."
That one took longer.
"Okay," he said finally.
"Rule three… jealousy is not allowed."
He raised an eyebrow. "That seems unrealistic."
"It's necessary."
He nodded. "Fine."
"And rule four," she said quietly, "if this stops feeling equal, we stop."
He met her gaze. "Always equal."
She searched his face. "You say that like it's obvious."
"It should be."
The first test came sooner than either of them expected.
Dani was restocking cupcakes when a woman walked in—tall, polished, expensive. She scanned the shop like she was stepping into a museum exhibit she didn't quite approve of.
"Can I help you?" Dani asked.
The woman smiled tightly. "I was just curious."
"About cupcakes?"
"About you."
Dani's pulse quickened.
"I'm sorry?"
"You're engaged to Parker Grayson," the woman said. "I've known him a long time."
Dani kept her voice calm. "Then you know where the door is."
The woman laughed softly. "Relax. I'm not here to cause trouble."
Dani wasn't convinced.
After she left, Dani found Parker in the back.
"Someone came looking for you."
He stiffened. "Who?"
"A woman who knew your name without me saying it."
He closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry."
"That's not an answer."
"She won't matter," he said.
Dani folded her arms. "They always say that."
That night, Dani lay awake longer than she wanted to admit.
This was the part she hadn't anticipated.
Not the money. Not the rules.
The ghosts.
The next evening, they worked late side by side, quiet and comfortable in a way that surprised both of them.
"You're good at this," Parker said, frosting a cupcake with uneven enthusiasm.
"At cupcakes?"
"At building something people care about."
She smiled faintly. "It's easier when you love it."
He glanced at her. "Is it?"
"Yes."
The silence stretched.
"No touching," she reminded softly.
"I wasn't," he said, hands raised.
"Good."
But when the power flickered, and Dani startled, she didn't pull away when his arm brushed hers.
They both noticed.
Neither commented.
Later, as Parker prepared to leave, Dani stopped him.
"This is still temporary."
"I know."
"And I'm still scared."
"I know."
She hesitated. "Promise me something."
"Anything."
"If this ever becomes about protecting you instead of protecting us, I'm gone."
He nodded without hesitation. "Deal."
She watched him leave, her heart heavier than before.
Across town, Parker stood in his hotel room, staring at his reflection.
For the first time in years, the man looking back didn't seem careless.
He looked cornered.
And the realization unsettled him more than headlines ever could.
This wasn't just about reputation.
It was about whether he deserved the woman who had trusted him not to disappear inside his world.
And whether he was strong enough to make sure she didn't.
Dani didn't tell Parker right away how unsettled she felt after the woman left.
She tried to shake it off while cleaning the counter, but the feeling lingered like a draft she couldn't seal.
It wasn't jealousy.
It was awareness.
Parker's past wasn't just history.
It was a shadow that moved.
That night, when Parker returned to help close up the shop, Dani watched him more carefully than before. He moved easily through the space now, familiar with the routines, careful not to overstep.
He wiped counters without being asked. Replaced cupcake boxes the way she preferred, labels facing forward.
"You're staring," he said lightly.
"I'm assessing."
"That sounds ominous."
"It's practical."
He leaned against the counter. "And what's the verdict?"
She hesitated. "You make yourself comfortable fast."
"That's a flaw," he admitted.
"It can be."
They worked in silence for a while, the rhythm grounding.
Finally, Dani spoke.
"People don't just disappear from your life, do they?"
Parker paused. "Not always."
"That woman earlier, she wasn't surprised by me."
"No," he said quietly.
"That's what bothers me."
He set the cloth down. "I won't let my past interfere with your present."
"That's not something you can control," Dani said gently. "You can only control what you tell me."
He met her gaze. "Then I'll tell you everything you ask."
She nodded slowly.
"Then here's another rule."
"Okay."
"No secrets that affect me."
"Agreed."
"And no minimizing," she added. "If something's messy, I want the truth. Not the polished version."
He smiled faintly. "You really don't like my world."
"I don't like uncertainty," she corrected. "There's a difference."
The lights hummed softly above them. Outside, the square had gone quiet.
"This is harder for you than you expected," Dani said.
"Yes."
"And easier for me than it should be."
He looked at her then, not amused or guarded. Just honest.
"That scares me," she said.
"It should," he replied. "It scares me too."
They stood there, close but careful, the space between them charged with things neither of them was ready to name.
And somewhere beneath the rules and agreements, Dani felt it.
The shift.
Not in danger yet.
But inevitability.