Page 30 of The Christmas Arrangement
“Good night,” she says with a warm, open smile. The press eats it up. She’s fresh-faced and real, completely different from the polished pros they’re used to.
When we leave the tent, the wind’s picked up. Blowing snow stings my face, and I lower my head against it.
“It’s a short walk,” she promises. Then, “There’s only one bed.”
I’d noticed. Believe me, I’d noticed.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” I tell her.
“We’ll take turns.”
I frown at this. “We’ll figure it out once we’re inside.”
We cover the rest of the distance in silence. When we reach the path to the cottage, she breaks into a jog and I follow suit. She punches in the code to unlock the door and we hurry in from the cold.
She kicks off her boots and stows them on a shelf built into the base of the bench beside the door. I do the same with my shoes and take off the ski jacket. She strips off her parka and hangs it on the coat rack. Her teeth chatter.
“Do you want me to make a fire?” I ask, rubbing my hands together and pointing my chin toward the fireplace.
She raises an eyebrow. “You know how to make a fire?”
“Cody Jones makes a fire after he leaves the ranch to wander,” I remind her.
“You made that fire yourself?”
“Well, no,” I allow. “But I learned how to make one. The closeup of Cody’s shaking hands, that’s me. But the director wanted a really big, impressive fire so the pyrotechnics team enhanced it.”
She smiles and leans against the kitchen island. “I want to see this. You make a fire, I’ll make us some tea.”
“Deal.”
I crouch in front of the hearth and reach for the kindling while she fills the kettle with water, softly humming to herself.
A white flash outside the big window over the couch pulls my attention away from the fire. In the kitchen, Ivy shrieks my name and points toward the window and the dark night beyond. I wheel around in time to see Shane Nottingham’s pale face in the glass. Nottingham is a true weasel. The kind of paparazzi who would snap pictures of models sunbathing topless in their own backyard, chase a car through a tunnel, or have no qualms about following a celeb’s kid to school. He is a parasite.
A fireball of rage roars through my belly. I grip the fireplace poker in my hand and explode to my feet. Yank open the door and tear outside in my socks, snarling Shane’s name. He jumps down from the ledge, crashes through the hedgerow, and flees behind the Jollys' garage. I chase him down the snowy alley until he vanishes from sight.
I stand, panting and seething, for a long moment. My heart thuds as adrenaline washes over me in waves.
By the time I come back inside, I’ve cooled down.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Ivy in a calm voice as I peel off my sopping socks. “He’s known for stunts like that.”
She hands me a mug, and I wrap my cold hands around the hot ceramic. “It’s not your fault. But I guess taking turns on the couch isn’t going to work. At least not until we get a window covering.”
Chapter 13
Alstroemeria, Begonia, Chrysanthemum. Lawn clippings.
Ivy
* * *
I lie on my back and stare up at the ceiling in the dark. On the other side of the pillow barrier we’ve built, Dash breathes evenly. He fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Meanwhile, I’m wide awake on my side of Mount Pillow, stiff as a board. I’m so rigid that it reminds of the sleepover game Holly, Merry, and I used to play with our Field cousins when they visited. The six of us would play “light as a feather, stiff as a board” in our pajamas, giggling and waiting to see who would levitate. I smile at the memory.
I have to get some sleep. But I’m hyperaware of the man I’m sharing a bed with. Also, I’m hot. Boiling, even. My strategy for getting through the night with some semblance of propriety was to pretend I was a Victorian era woman protecting modesty with layer upon layer of clothing. That said, the cottage heats efficiently thanks to the remodel my dad and mom did several ago, and radiant heat pours into the room, making my sweatpants, long-sleeve shirt, and sweatshirt a poor choice.
This is ludicrous. I’m sweating buckets, and he’s sound asleep. I ease myself out from under the covers and wriggle out of the sweatshirt one arm at a time and then lower my sweatpants over my hips. I also shed the fuzzy socks, tossing my fleece suit of armor onto the floor.