Faking It with My Bossy Ex (Sweet Christmas Kisses)

4. Dylan

Chapter 4

Dylan

Amy’s eyes widen and a devilish grin sweeps across my face. I didn’t expect to run into her so soon, or quite so literally. My hands tighten around her waist.

“Let me go.” She slaps at my hands.

I drop my hands and step back. “If you insist.” I chuckle. “It's slippery out here.” Who had her so interested in her phone she almost fell flat on her back?

“You didn’t have to catch me. I was just fine.” She glares, like I was the one who pushed her instead of the person who just saved her.

“I’m sure you were. It looked like you were going to recover from that in great condition.” I tuck my hands into my pockets. If she doesn’t want me holding onto her, no use freezing them off.

The idea of holding her sends a bolt of heat through me.

Keep it together. Mind out of the gutter.

“If you would have been watching where you were going, you wouldn’t have run into me.”

She could’ve been furious, embarrassed even, but there she was, crossing her arms, hopping from foot to foot like she couldn’t decide whether to storm off or stand her ground.

There was something about Amy’s clumsy charm and that spark of fire that lit up a room, even when she was mad at me.

“If you’d wait up, I’ll give you a ride.” The sight of her sitting in my passenger seat, bickering back and forth, fills my head with thoughts that are best kept private.

“No thanks,” she calls over her shoulder. “I’m just going to the library. It’s right around the corner.”

I smirk as I watch her rigid back retreat. Just wait until she finds out we’re heading to the same place. So far, I haven’t even gone out of my way to be in her path, and she’s landed right in front of me twice. That’s got to be fate.

Taking my time, I wait until she’s out of sight before going back to my car and taking the roundabout road to the library. Amy’s furious face, the way she’ll scrunch her nose and look at me as if she wants to strangle me, conjures up a comical sight in my mind.

Pulling into the library parking lot, anticipation bubbles up inside me. Warm air greets me as I enter the small, book-filled building. It's obvious why Snowfall Springs needs a community center. A dedicated space for classes and activities would benefit the town's youth immensely.

When we were younger, there were activities at the school gym. Which ones? I wouldn’t know since I rarely participated. Hanging out with my friends, spending nights in the town, and getting into trouble were some of my favorite past times.

Ironically, one of the first times I went to the gym was for an extra art day, which was mandatory, and also where I struck up my first conversation with Amy. She was hot, and my friends dared me to get her number. She turned me down flat, looked me up and down and said that she didn’t have time for guys like me .

But she changed her mind, eventually. Those years with Amy became the best of my life.

The gym slowly became my escape from home, a place that helped turn me into a better person. It's funny how one moment can change everything. Now, I believe the community center could be that safe haven for more young people in town. A place where they can find themselves, grow, and become better versions of themselves. Just like I did.

A huge tree towers in the corner. Little glittering ornaments hang from the luscious green branches. Stacks of fake gifts are wrapped, prepared for the holiday pictures everyone in town looks forward to so much. The little kid in me wishes I could unwrap them just to make sure it’s really a cardboard box under the fancy colors.

A young lady in her twenties sits at the front desk, her nose buried in a book. She looks up as I walk up.

“Hi, I'm looking for the meeting room for the fundraiser?” I shake the snow from my hair, barely noticing as it sprinkles onto the dull gray carpet. The receptionist, whose badge reads “Becky,” barely glances up from her book.

“Study Room C, down the hall. Marge is already waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” I stride down the carpeted hall, my mind racing. Marge, the town's self-appointed matchmaker, used to drive Amy crazy with her not-so-subtle hints about us being “perfect for each other.”

The thought of her seeing Amy and me together now makes me chuckle. Amy's sure to be uncomfortable, cheeks flushed, and wearing that adorable irritated expression.

I wish I was coming back to town with Amy as my girlfriend or even my fiancé. Those were our dreams, after all. I shake the thought off.

If my memory serves me well, Study Room C is one of the smaller rooms. I knock on the door and step inside.

Sure enough, Marge is sitting at the table. But she's not the only thing I notice. Boxes teeter in large stacks everywhere I look. The big meeting table is buried in paper. The place looks like a tornado swept through and rearranged it all. It’s very different from the pristine workspace I’m used to.

Marge's piercing blue eyes find me as I enter. Her frizzy gray hair strains against a small plastic clip.

“Dylan, is that you?” She shuffles over, her expression a mix of wonder and disbelief. From her look, I might as well have grown a grizzly beard or lost all my teeth. It has been eight years, but I didn't think I'd changed that much.

“Dylan Carter, present for duty.” I do a mock salute. More wrinkles surround her eyes, and she’s a lot shorter than I remember. Her wiry arms clamp around me in a tight hug.

“I'm so glad that you were able to come and help with this. As soon as you reached out, I knew you'd be perfect.” She nods her head and motions to the room. “As you can see, there's plenty to do.”

“With all these filing boxes?” I was already reluctant when it came to the Snowfall Springs project, and that was before there were filing boxes involved. I’ve been away for a long time, and the place dredges up a lot of old feelings, some bad and some good.

“Oh, this is our system. See, the president of the community center project passed away, and he was a stickler for old fashioned things. He also handled the town’s finances and everything like that. They left it all to me, but I don't even know where to start organizing it. We've got a laptop, and we have all these records. That's about it.” She frowns and shakes her head, then looks up at me, her eyes huge and pleading.

“But I know you're going to do a wonderful job.”

I frown, eyeing the mountain of paperwork. Surely she doesn't expect me to tackle all this solo? I’m not sure I’d be able to finish it in time. There is only today and tomorrow before the fundraiser starts.

“Is there someone who can pitch in on the organization side? That would make it easier to put into the computer.” This is an office person’s worst nightmare. I’m pretty sure there’s data on the dinosaurs that used to live in Snowfall Springs.

“I do have someone in mind. Let me go check and see if she's ready yet. I left her warming up in the break room.” Marge rushes out of the study room. A puff of air leaves my lungs and my shoulders deflate.

That's a lot of boxes. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. But it's for Snowfall Springs. A few paper cuts won't kill me, and the town's been good to me. The least I can do is return the favor.

Marge comes back a few minutes later. A certain someone is behind her, wavy brown hair thrown up in a messy bun and intelligent green eyes. My smile grows. This room full of boxes just got a whole lot more interesting.

I’m not complaining.

“What are you doing here?” Amy demands, her polite expression cracking as she stares me down.

“The two of you were such a lovely couple back in the day,” Marge says. She glances between us. “Are you back together? It would make my old heart happy. Couples don’t last like they used to.”

“Wait, you want us to work together?” Amy's mouth drops, and I can practically see the gears in her head grinding to a halt. I survey the chaos around us, doing some quick mental math. Hours of work, confined space, my irresistible charm—what could possibly go wrong?

“That sounds like a great idea,” I agree. Marge beams up at me as if I’ve already given her the perfect Christmas gift. Amy’s glare deepens.

“We should not be working together,” Amy pleads with Marge with her eyes, begging for an escape.

“Nonsense, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t. Couples make great teams.”

“We’re not a couple.” Amy’s cheeks turn fiery red and my smile widens.

“You’re not?” Marge’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Of course, but this would be the perfect opportunity to set aside old grudges and start anew. That’s what the Christmas spirit is about, anyway.”

She leans toward Amy, “You never know what will happen along the way.”

I’m barely containing my laughter and can tell Amy’s about to cave because who could say no to Marge? And the only way to get away from her uncomfortable teasing is to agree with her.

“I suppose I could consider helping.” Amy grinds her response out through clenched teeth, a promise of revenge in her bright eyes. Marge nods enthusiastically, then gives Amy's arm a squeeze and waves to me before she rushes out of the study room.

“What do you think you're doing?” she seethes.

“Me? This was all Marge’s doing. I had no idea.” How unfortunate, we’re stuck working together. My mind races with all the possibilities.

“There's no way I can help you with all of this. What even is this?” Her eyes widen as she takes in the disaster, and I can't help but smile. That deer-in-headlights look? Still adorable.

“These are all their records. I need to sort through them for the budget and financials. Getting this right is crucial for the community center project. Without it, the project can't even start.” Am I guilting her right now?

“Oh, and I'm also supposed to keep the schedule on track. Looks like that's part of the job, too.” I add, hoping to appeal to the old Amy's love for town projects.

Amy’s mouth opens slightly. The uncertainty on Amy's face is palpable.

Do something. Make her stay.

I step closer, my eyes never leaving hers.

“Look, Amy, I didn't plan this little reunion, but here we are, and Snowfall Springs needs us. You gonna bail on your hometown?”

She tilts her head up, defiance flashing in those green eyes. She’s so close I can see the faint freckles across her nose. My finger itches to trace her cheek.

Focus. She's not mine to touch anymore.

“Our town's counting on us,” I continue, my voice low and firm. “Marge is drowning here. We can sort this mess out in no time if we work together. What do you say? For old times' sake?”

“Like partners?” There's a hint of something in her voice—maybe curiosity?

I can't help the smirk that spreads across my face. “Not quite, sweetheart. I'll be in charge. That’s why Marge brought me on board. She's betting on my financial expertise here. But,” I add, holding her gaze, “I need your skills to make this work. You always did have a knack for keeping my attention focused.”

The punch she lands on my arm is about as effective as a kitten's swat. But before I can savor my victory, she's spinning on her heel, making a beeline for the door.

Not so fast, Ames.

I reach out, catching her hand and pulling her back. The contact sends a jolt of electricity straight to my heart, reminding me why it’s beating.

“Running away already? And here I thought you liked a challenge.” I raise an eyebrow, daring her to prove me wrong.

She hesitates, and I seize the moment.

“Come on, Ames. The town needs us. The community center needs us. Think of all the kids who'll have a place to go.”

Her brow furrows, a mix of skepticism and amusement playing across her face.

“The children? Really, Dylan?”

I can't help but chuckle.

“Alright, the community center, the people, the mothers … whoever's going to use the place. You know what I mean.”

“I'm not getting you coffee,” she says flatly.

“Tea, then?” I suggest, unable to resist pushing her buttons.

“No. And I'm doing this for the town, that's it. Nothing between us is going to change.”

“Who said I wanted it to?” I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. But I do want it to change. The truth’s been gnawing at me. Only it’s not just my secret to tell.

Coming clean might fix us, or it might hurt her more than ever.

“You can let go of my hand now,” she says, her voice a touch breathier than before. I realize I'm still holding onto her, the warmth of her skin against mine feeling far too right. It takes every ounce of willpower to break the connection.

“Let's get to work,” I say, my voice rougher than I'd like.