Free Made to Last (Where Love Begins Book #1) by Melissa Tagg Page A

an interesting nickname.”
    He leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees. “Yeah, little incident with a metal travel mug in a microwave. Then there was the time I singed off my eyebrows roasting marshmallows. Oh, and the fireworks seven, no eight, Fourth of Julys ago.”
    “Suddenly I’m worried about welcoming you into my house.”
    Blake grinned. “Don’t. It’s been three and a half years since my last fire. Hot air balloon. Operator error. In Switzerland. Ah, that was a doozy.”
    Apparently Jack London had nothing on this guy.
    He rubbed his palms together. “So, look, this is a wild situation. One minute I’ve got a part-time stint with a catering company, the next I’m talked into my first acting gig in a role as your husband. But I like helping people—which, from the sound of it, is exactly what you need.”
    “I need some normalcy, that’s what.” Something told her this guy was anything but.
    He leaned back in the couch, chuckled. “I can’t promise that. But I can promise to stick to whatever story you want, play the perfect husband. You totally have my word.”
    For just a moment, a new thought teased her: This could be fun . Would it be so bad to show up at some glitzy restauranton the arm of this, uh—fine, she’d admit it—hunk? To put up with his dimpled grins and crinkled, marble eyes?
    Would it be so painful to act out the happy marriage she’d always dreamed of? “Why are you really doing this, Blaze?”
    He must have recognized the imploring tone of her voice for what it was—a plea for assurance, for some kind of serious answer to convince her she wasn’t about to make the mistake of her life. “When your manager approached me, at first I thought, ‘Dude, I’ve spent a good deal of my life in someone else’s shadow. This is my chance for the spotlight.’ May not be noble, but it’s a reason, right?” He shrugged, then softened. “But the truth is, I had a chance to help someone once, and I . . . failed. Ridiculous as it sounds, this felt like a second chance. A slightly insane one, but . . . Well, anyway, the paycheck’s good, too.”
    Miranda studied him. He may brush off his own words, but she’d seen a spark just then, something honest and generous. He genuinely saw this as a noble cause, didn’t he? “And y-you really think we can pull this off?”
    “Babe, I once bungee-jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. I think I can manage a few weeks of wedded bliss.”
    He propped his feet on the conference table, flip-flops in place of shoes, not even a hint of concern on his face. Maybe she could learn a thing or two from the man. “You don’t think we’re crazy trying to pull the wool over a whole country’s eyes?”
    “Oh, I think you’re crazy, all right. I just happen to like crazy.”
    Oh, Lord, help me. But the prayer had no business flitting through her mind. She couldn’t ask God to help her lie.
    Not lie. Pretend. Remember what Brad said: “ . . . just another character on the show.”
    Somehow the thought didn’t ease her conscience. Someday when this is all over, God, I’ll be the obedient, meek and mildwoman I’m supposed to be. The person Mom and Dad always wanted me to be. Maybe she’d go to church again, too. Rekindle the faith that had burned down to barely a flicker of late.
    But for now, she had to do what she had to do.
    “All right, Blaze. Consider yourself fake-married.” She stood and reached behind her head to loosen her ponytail.
    “Not so fast.” Blake rose, mischievous smile in his eyes. “Shouldn’t we say our vows?”
    “Excuse me?”
    He extended his arm. “Hand, please.”
    She complied, solely out of amused interest.
    “I, Blaze Hunziker, take you, Randi Woodruff, to be my imaginary wife. For richer or for poorer—though I prefer richer; in sickness and in health—I never get sick; for as long as that guy named Lincoln shall order.”
    A duet of exhilaration and trepidation—possibly what it felt like just