Page 11 of The Christmas Arrangement

I suppose it is what a real boyfriend would do. But to be honest, I can’t see him clipping the thorns off roses and arranging greenery.

He must sense my skepticism because he continues, “I can do it. If you’ll let me. Didn’t I carry that planter like a champ?” He points to the garden roses and peonies with naked pride.

I can’t help but laugh. “What would this involve, exactly?”

“Not much, really. You’ll stand beside me when I tell the press we’re dating. Then I’ll take questions and we’ll pose for pictures. After that, I’ll ask them to respect our privacy while we spend a week together. There’s nothing that gets you a more sustained media focus than asking for privacy. So, they’ll follow us around to get candid footage of us … uh, doing traditional quaint and picturesque Christmas … things. And I’ll pitch in as a flower delivery guy or whatever you need.”

“Do you have any favorite holiday traditions?” I have to ask because he seems so unsure of what we would be doing.

He shrugs, and it feels defensive. “Not really. It was just me and mom growing up, and I was usually working. So we’d celebrate wherever I was filming. It was different every year.”

My heart squeezes. I can’t imagine a childhood without holiday traditions. Shoot, I can’t imagine an adulthood without them. A highlight reel of decorating trees, baking cookies, filling stockings, and dancing with the rest of the candies in the Land of the Sweets loops through my mind.

Misinterpreting my silence, he tries another tack. “Being known as Dash Pine’s girlfriend, even briefly, will be marketing fairy dust for your business.”

I waver, but not because of the potential business upside. If I do this, I could take him to the tree lighting, Christmas karaoke, the library book bingo, the gingerbread house contest, and a dozen other events. I could make up for a lifetime of quiet Christmases past for Dash.

Holly would tell me to run away. Merry would tell me to run into his arms.

I've spent my whole life being the sister who listens. I wonder what it will be like to be the one who's seen. I shiver with an unexpected zing of excitement (or maybe it's nerves).

I extend my right hand.

He stares at it.

“You’ll do it?”

“Traditionally, a handshake signifies a deal, Dash.”

He ignores my outstretched hand and swoops me into a hug, picking me up and spinning me around.

Chapter 6

A Hard Truth

Dash

Back to the present

* * *

Does my mouth linger a fraction of a second too long on Ivy’s ear? Maybe. Does her skin smell like vanilla and roses? Definitely. Did she just save my million-dollar ass with her quick thinking? Clearly.

I should have been prepared for the question of how we met. It was an obvious one, and not having a ready answer was sloppy. I know this, but the point’s driven home by the way Luna’s shaking her head from her perch in the back of the room. Brody’s probably paying her to report back, and she’s going to tell him I nearly blew this thing before it got off the ground.

The thing about me, the thing nobody believes until they see it for themselves, is that I cannot tell a lie. If I ever chop down a cherry tree, I’ll confess faster than our first president did. People don’t believe it. How can you be an actor if you can’t lie? That’s the question they always ask.

The answer’s simple. Acting isn’t lying. In fact, acting is the most authentic, genuine expression of our humanity. Acting is all about channeling emotions—the actor’s real, felt emotions—into a performance.

Lying, however, is outside my skill set. I was raised by a single mom. Lacking the support of family or any nearby friends, she had one hard and fast, set in stone rule: never lie to her. That was it. As long as I didn’t lie, she had (and still has) my back. No matter how stupid, dangerous, or ill-advised my behavior was, she supported me so long as I was honest with her.

There were consequences, sure. But she values honesty more than anything else. And it must be hard-wired in my genetic makeup. Because I’m the worst liar you’ll ever meet. I ruined the surprise party we tried to throw for Brody, and I told Luna’s last lover that her real name is Ann. Every crew member who’s ever worked with me has invited me to a poker game.

I’m that bad of a liar.

My radical honesty was a known problem for this fake dating plan. I was relying on America’s sweetheart to do the heavy lifting. Lia Campbell is decidedly fake. Her commitment to disingenuousness was one of the selling points for me and Brody. We figured she could lie well enough to make up for my inability to sell a falsehood.

But now … I slide Ivy a sidelong glance. Even though she’s fast on her feet, she doesn’t strike me as a practiced liar.