{"id":260066,"date":"2026-07-13T17:25:59","date_gmt":"2026-07-13T14:25:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/faking-it-with-my-ex-sabrina-knight\/"},"modified":"2026-07-13T17:25:59","modified_gmt":"2026-07-13T14:25:59","slug":"faking-it-with-my-ex-sabrina-knight","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/faking-it-with-my-ex-sabrina-knight\/","title":{"rendered":"Faking It With My Ex – Sabrina Knight"},"content":{"rendered":"
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“No you don’t.” I don’t. That’s the problem. *** The antique shop is cramped and dusty and wonderful, packed floor to ceiling with furniture and jewelry and things that look like they have stories. “Don’t touch the music box,” Ben warns as we walk in. “It plays for forty- five minutes and no one knows how to stop it.” “Speaking from experience?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” Gladys emerges from the back, a tiny woman with enormous glasses and a cardigan that’s seen better decades.<\/p>\n

“Ben Carter! Did you come to look at that writing desk again?” “Just checking in. How’s the hip?” “Still attached, which is more than I can say for that desk’s drawer pull. Don’t suppose you have time to take a look?” Twenty minutes later, Ben has fixed the drawer, rehung a crooked shelf, and promised to come back Tuesday to look at a wobbly table leg.<\/p>\n

Gladys sends us off with a vintage brooch she insists I take “for luck.” Outside, the afternoon sun is starting to slant gold across Main Street. My feet ache, my face hurts from smiling at strangers, and I’m carrying a pastry box, a vintage brooch, and a completely rearranged understanding of the man walking beside me. “So,” Ben says as we reach his truck. “Tomorrow. We should probably start on the presentation materials.” “Probably.” I clutch the brooch in my palm, the metal warm from my hand. “Gran’s kitchen table work for you?”<\/p>\n

“I’ll bring coffee.” “You don’t have to\u2014” “I want to.” He opens my door, and I climb in without arguing. Chief greets me with a wet nose to the cheek. Ben rounds the truck and slides behind the wheel, but he doesn’t start the engine right away.<\/p>\n

For a moment, we just sit there, the quiet settling around us. “Thanks for today,” he says. “For coming along. You didn’t have to.” “I know.” “So why did you?”<\/p>\n

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Chapter 1 – Sierra Chapter 2 – Ben Chapter 3 – Sierra Chapter 4 – Ben Chapter 5 – Sierra Chapter 6 – Ben Chapter 7 – Sierra Chapter 8 – Sierra Chapter 9 – Ben Chapter 10 – Sierra Chapter 11 – Ben Chapter 12 – Sierra Chapter 13 – Ben Chapter 14 – Sierra Chapter 15 – Ben Chapter 16 – Sierra Chapter 17 – Ben Epilogue – Sierra 1.<\/p>\n

A Big Thank You! OceanofPDF.com T Chapter 1 – Sierra he screech of metal on metal makes me wince. The car jolts beneath me, and a stunned stillness ripples across the parking lot, followed by a few quiet, scandalized gasps. “Please be a bench,” I whisper. The universe refuses. My hands hover uselessly on the wheel. For a brief, irrational moment, I consider closing my eyes and pretending this is a stress dream I can wake up from.<\/p>\n

Instead, I shut off the engine and step into the crisp air. A small crowd has paused. A woman frozen mid-sip. A man stopped mid- stride, his dog straining at the leash. Somewhere, a child is openly pointing at me like I’m part of the town’s morning entertainment. This was not the quiet re-entry I had imagined. I tug my sweater down and move toward the back of my car. A truck. Dark blue. Spotless. Definitely expensive.<\/p>\n

Its polished chrome bumper now bearing the subtle imprint of my incredibly bad timing. “Seriously?” The voice is deep, carrying an edge that could cut glass. It reminds me of someone I used to know. I move around the edge of the truck. A man stands there, coffee tray in hand, staring at me like I’ve personally ruined his entire week. One cup is missing from the tray, its last lonely drops darkening the pavement near his boots.<\/p>\n

\u201cSierra?\u201d Of all the days. Of all the parking lots. Of all the trucks in this entire town. It had to be him. Three hours earlier. I-93 stretches endlessly ahead of me, and my brain won’t shut up. We’re going in a different direction with the campaign. I can still hear Andrea’s voice. Calm, polished, utterly rehearsed.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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