Page 25 of The Christmas Arrangement
“Nah, I don’t think so.”
We both lower our heads to take a closer look and our foreheads brush together. She laughs and looks up at me. I smooth that tendril of hair that keeps escaping back behind her ear and watch her throat as she swallows hard.
Her pupils dilate, her breath quickens, and the color creeps up her neck to her face as she arches her back. She’s giving me every signal known to man or animal, and my body’s responding. Screw boundaries.
I take her face in my hands, dip my head, and part my lips just as the bells over the store’s front door jangle loudly. We jerk apart. My heart races like we almost got caught, but isn’t that the whole point?
Chapter 11
The First Real Fake Date
Ivy
* * *
By the time I’ve helped Xander Michaelson pick out the perfect pots of deep red boat orchids and fragrant white hyacinths to complement the seasonal display in the window of his jewelry store, it’s almost dark. Dash and I literally dash across town in an effort to make it to the square before Dawn Min throws the switch to light the tree.
We’re not quite running, but we’re not exactly walking either. It’s more of a 1980s fitness-inspired cross between the two with our arms pumping and our feet tapping. Our pace makes conversation almost impossible, which is fine by me because my mind is whirling as fast as my feet in these ridiculous heeled boots as I turn over our interaction in the back room, running through it over again and again.
We came this close to kissing. If Xander hadn’t walked through the door, we absolutely would have. But we can’t. We agreed—displays of affection are reserved for the public. And there’s nothing remotely public about the windowless back storeroom of my flower shop. Tucked away back there, we might as well have been the only two people in the world. If I didn’t fully believe him at the fishing cabin, I do now. He’s as drawn to me as I am to him. It’s mutual, as wild as that seems.
How can we make it through seven days—and nights—without cracking? I shift my gaze to the side and study his profile. Maybe he can. He’s an actor. But I don’t know if I can do it.
“Are you good?” He slows his pace to look at me.
Did I say that aloud? After a mortified moment, I relax. He’s talking about the race to the square.
“Yeah, it’s the boots. We’re almost there.” I point out the silhouette of the tall tree in the center of town, still visible in the fading light.
He smirks and grabs my hand. “Come on.”
We jog the last block together. When we reach the edge of the brick-paved square, we screech to a stop. The crowd is shoulder to shoulder. My family will have a spot right up front, but there’s no way we’ll be able to swim through all these people before the town manager hits the switch to turn on the lights.
“We’ll have to watch from here.”
He gives me a disbelieving look and shakes his head. Then he projects his voice to call, “Excuse us,” and plunges into the crowd, tugging me along by my hand. The crowd parts to let us through, and dozens of people raise their phones to record our progress. I stare straight ahead and try not to cringe.
Finally, we reach my family, who are not quite front and center—more like slightly to the left, which was always my mom’s preferred spot. I squeeze in next to my sisters and Jack and let out a slow breath as my shoulders drop down from my ears. Dash wraps his arm around me and whispers, “It gets easier.”
As if she’s been waiting for us to get there, the instant we take our spots, the town manager lifts her microphone. “Are you ready to kick off Merriment Month in Mistletoe Mountain?” She pauses for the cheers and shouts before continuing. “This year, Enrique Morales hauled our beautiful twenty-eight-foot-tall tree back from White Pines Tree Farm.”
Dawn gestures toward the tree and then toward the far right of the square, where Enrique and his retriever, Bear, stand. Enrique acknowledges the shouts of thanks with a nod. Bear wags his tail.
She continues, “Frosty Brewery has once again graciously sponsored the beer and root beer garden. Look for the heated tent near the chapel. This year the Sober Sleigh rides are courtesy of The Inn at Mistletoe Mountain and Quintessentially Quinn. And, we have special guests to light our tree—Dash Pine and … um … our very own Ivy Jolly!”
Dash and I exchange surprised looks. He shrugs, “Brody probably set it up.”
“And didn’t tell you?”
“I’m sure he sent me a text or something that I ignored. Or Lia’s team arranged it.”
“Lovely.”
“Doesn’t matter now—let’s go.”
He leads me to the platform and shakes hands with Dawn while I blink out at the crowd. When I start to hyperventilate, I remind myself that I know almost every single person looking back at me, and the ones I don’t know are vacationers and tourists whom I’ll likely never see again. I take a slow breath.
The Mapleville Merrymakers steel-drum band plays the opening bars of “Rocking Around The Christmas Tree,” and Dash and I reach out together to flip the switch that powers the display. The massive tree lights up with a burst of color, followed by the twinkling white reindeer that prance on the light posts along square, and finally the lights strung on Santa’s gazebo.