Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
That’s the problem when you walk a tightrope between real and fake, I’m learning. You don’t know what’s what.
“Hey, snow angel,” he says, using that nickname that does funny things to my belly.
“Hey, you,” I say, and that feels awfully intimate too.
Right as he leans in and brushes a kiss to my cheek, a cutie-pie of a dog trots down the hall, excitedly barking hello. When Wanda reaches me, she pops up on her back legs and bounces.
I waggle the stuffed toy for her. “I brought you a reward for all this fabulous dancing.”
As Rowan shuts the door, he shoots me a curious look. “You got Wanda a toy?”
“It’s like a hostess gift.”
He pets her head, but she’s too wrapped up in the stuffy now. She’s hauling it to the living room, the bright green tail of the gator dragging along the carpet behind her.
I haven’t been here since we decorated the tree, but it’s looking festive and lit up tonight. The lights wink on and off in greeting. He’s even hung a few stockings by the fireplace. Three. I don’t dare hope the extra one is for me. It’s probably Wanda’s.
“Let me take your coat,” he says, and I shrug it off for him. He sets it on a hook by the door as I toe off my boots then sniff the air. A warm, rosemary aroma drifts past me, and it smells like—
“Are you making eggplant parmesan?”
“For my vegetarian,” he says, sounding proud.
“Smells incredible,” I say, then peer around. “Where are your parents and Mia?”
“They’re swinging by the store then their cabin to grab some salad ingredients. Mom wanted to make something special for you.”
My heart squeezes. “Does she…know…?”
“She knows I like you,” he says.
My stomach twists. God, don’t make this harder. Don’t make this feel more real.
I smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. But maybe, maybe that means something? That this could become real? Ugh, I didn’t mean for this to feel real.
“It’s mutual,” I say brightly, though I hope that’s obvious.
“Good,” he says, in a rasp, then nods to a bottle on the counter. “Want some wine?”
“One glass can’t hurt, but I’ll stop after that. I don’t want to be overserved when your parents and daughter arrive,” I say.
He moves into the kitchen, pours me a Chablis, then a scotch for himself, and toasts. “To another chance for you to say we’ve been fake-dating since the first Christmas tree farm.”
Fake.
I wish he’d just said dating.
But I keep that thought to myself, since at least he remembered I like Chablis. “Fake-dating is like hockey. You have to play the game till the last second ticks off the clock.”
“Oh, don’t turn me on with hockey analogies.”
“Puck me, baby,” I say.
“That’s it. I’m turned on,” he says, then we clink, and I take a sip—it’s bright and fruity. “Delicious.”
“Let me try it.”
I offer him the glass. He takes it, sets it down on the counter, then comes in for a kiss. He seals his mouth to mine for several long seconds that scramble my brain, then he breaks it and says, “On you. I want to try it on you.”
My chest flutters, and he comes in for another kiss. Longer, deeper, needier.
When he breaks it, he checks the clock. “They said they’d be here in thirty minutes.”
And it’s clear how he wants to pass the time.
“What about the eggplant parmesan?”
“I’ll set it on low,” he says.
Soon, we’re on the couch, and I’m under him, and he’s kissing me hard and deep as the music plays and the sky darkens…
And hold on. What’s that?
I squint past his shoulder, out the window.
The world has gone white.
44
MY FANTASY
ROWAN
With my fingers pressed to the cool glass of the window overlooking the backyard—really, the forest—I listen to my mom and nod. “Sure, sure. I get it. I don’t want you to be unsafe on the road,” I say, even though I was really looking forward to tonight.
I had this whole vision in my head—my parents, Mia, Isla, all at dinner together. I don’t know why it mattered so much. It just did. Like some part of me needed to see Isla with my family.
But this snow, falling at the speed of light, is making that impossible.
“It’s coming down fast,” Mom says. “We just made it back to the cabin to grab the other ingredients when it started snowing.”
“We didn’t get my special sprinkles!” Mia calls from the background, and I smile. She wants them for her cookie class.
“Tell Mia not to worry. I promise I’ll get them tomorrow,” I say as my gaze turns to the window once more. “It’s looking like it’s going to be a white Christmas, that’s for sure,” I say, more pensive than I mean to sound.
“My favorite kind,” she says. “We hardly get them in San Francisco.”