My stomach twists. Then I see the comments underneath.
Single moms always move fast when money is involved.
Poor kid probably thinks every athlete is her new daddy.
Bakery looks mid tbh.
I go very still.
Something hot and immediate moves through my chest.
Protectiveness. Sharp. Unexpected. Absolute.
Not because people are talking about me.
I’m used to that.
But Sadie?
Jillie?
They got dragged into this because I picked up a little girl who looked sad.
And now strangers think they own pieces of them.
Maddie calls again before I can spiral further.
“What now?” I answer.
“I booked a private room at Harbor House Café in Briar Cove. Ten a.m.”
“No.”
“She already agreed to meet.”
I freeze.
“She what?”
“Calm down. She didn’t agree to fake date you. She agreed to discuss options before paparazzi camps permanently outside her bakery.”
That shuts me up. Because she’s right. This won’t disappear on its own.
“Colby,” Maddie says more gently now, “you know how this works. Either the story grows uncontrollably… or we manage it.”
“I’m not using them.”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting.”
“It sounds exactly like what you’re suggesting.”
She exhales slowly. “I’m suggesting you protect them.”
I hate how those words land.
Because suddenly the issue isn’t PR anymore.
It’s Jillie crying outside the bakery.
